


Comrades and Lovers: After Wrigley's

by glinda4thegood



Series: Comrades & Lovers Universe [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Klingons, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-16
Updated: 2011-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-17 01:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glinda4thegood/pseuds/glinda4thegood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows <i>Comrades and Lovers</i>. Korax works to regain his rank; Llant finds a Klingon weapons master for her crew. Another Klingon is rescued from Slavers on Xanadu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**FIRST YEAR AFTER WRIGLEY**

_KORAX: AGAB_

“I don’t believe it. A semi-qualified replacement.”

The old warrior squinted at his tablet screen, then squinted at Korax. He rubbed a finger over his own imposing, silver-framed brow ridges. “You are Kendal. Altered warrior, working near human space? You look ridiculous. Busted out here for some lapse of judgment -- or worse? Your service precis states you are now a warrior third-class, but with command experience. And you are certified to navigate.” A fit of coughing shook the warrior's thick shoulders. “I’ve been four men short for the last two cycles, and demanding replacements the entire time. True, they’ve sent me bodies, unskilled and largely untrainable. But those kind tend to get killed fairly quickly. Our equipment is old, the work is dangerous, and homeworld is demanding."

A profusion of ancient circular stains was revealed on the battered desktop as the old warrior hoisted and drained an oversized tankard. “I am Garat, Captain. It is possible your presence on Agab will benefit both of our careers. We have a single ore-miner, just capable of storing a third of a cycle’s quota in her holds . . so they make three trips out during each cycle. We use a phaser as a bore, and gather the rock by low traction. I just lost my last ship's commander to a stray rock. Got his skull crushed. He was careless. And stupid.”

Garat was an old blood wine addict, Korax realized, watching his new Captain rummage in a drawer for another bottle. "Do your command duties include --"

“Going out with the miner? Shaitan's stones, no.” Garat wiped his mouth on his red-stained sleeve. “You’ve had your rank lowered, your carcass shipped to the fringe. But fortune is with you. I need a ship's commander, and you’re better qualified than any of the rabble currently assigned to this post. I can offer you an opportunity: take the miner out, come back alive after a third of a cycle, and I’ll field-promote you to Commander-second. Then you can legitimately assume command of a ship. The work is much the same for everyone, the pay is no better, but rank is always useful. Especially if you’re serious about . . ." Garat squinted again at his tablet, "fulfilling honor-amend.”

It was such a good opportunity that Korax immediately doubted he would live to collect on the promotion. But warrior-third to commander-second would shave years off his progress toward honor-amend. Korax extended his fist. “ _HIja’_. I know nothing about mining.”

“Who does?” Garat’s laugh turned into a gurgling cough. “The warriors will call you _flathead_ or _blunt-tooth_ when they think you can't hear them. The ones you do overhear, you can assign to the front of the receiving hold. Krill will assist you. He’s what passes for an engineer on that piece of scrap.” Garat cleared his throat spat toward a corner behind his desk. “I've heard it said that the meddling Grahar may be able to undo what was done to you, but I don't expect such service would be available out here. Perhaps if you can reach honor-amend, you can also regain a face that would not shame Kahless. For now, warrior-third Kendal, in eight ship's hours you will take the Frar into the Bergen, to meet quota.”

 

Agab was dirty, with thin, cold air. Lichens and straggling, mossy bushes seemed to be the only vegetation.

The Klingon base was a neat contrast to the low, rust-colored buildings that crowded up to its edges. Habitents that looked temporary, but were probably permanent, clustered in geometric precision at the far side of the settlement.

Korax found the largest of the tents. Warriors sat talking and gaming in what the crew obviously used for a lounge. Bunks were stacked against the sides of the tent in tiers of two. Korax counted seven warriors gaming, two sleeping. Talking stopped as he entered.

“Krill?”

A tall, thin warrior rose from the gaming table. The bridge of his nose and cheeks were badly scarred, but his eyes were direct and intelligent.

“Who asks?”

“I am Kendal, warrior third. Garat ordered me to find you.”

Krill left the game, and play resumed, although every eye watched them surreptitiously.

“Have you been stationed here, Kendal?”

“Yes. And I know nothing about mining.”

Krill began to laugh. “At least the council is consistent. But we’ve lost our captain, and unless Garat sobers up -- and the time of the great war is not at hand! -- we won’t be mining for a while.”

“He says she’s going out in the morning.” Korax watched Krill's shrewd appraisal of his statement.

“You have navigational experience? You are even marginally qualified to command a freighter?”

“Marginally,” Korax said stiffly.

“Then you should see what you’ll be commanding.” Krill made a rumbling tenor sound that could have been laugh or growl. His expression was fiercely amused. “Come with me.”

The transporter filled Korax with dismay. It was old, and power surged dangerously as they entered their coordinates.

“Don’t worry,” Krill said. “At least _it_ hasn’t killed anyone. I can’t say that about the Frar.”

Krill’s words reverberated in Korax’ thoughts as he stepped off the transporter into the tiny ore-miner. Cramped, dirty, in obvious disrepair, the freighter seemed to barely hang together. The control room was jury-rigged. Debris was piled in the corners. The planet seemed pristine by comparison.

The phaser bay had patches on the bulkhead near the targeting console. Air masks had been hook-mounted at regular intervals in the corridors and the bay. Korax could feel atmosphere gently moving past his ears near those patches.

“Twenty three days a tour? And any survive the trip? Incredible!”

“Pressure-skins are required uniform aboard the Frar.” Krill showed him the holds. “We get low-grade ore for the most part, gathered by low traction -- very low traction, sometimes. Rocks get jammed up at the front, and men have to put on air masks, take rock hooks, and try to get the mass moving again. Most deaths occur in the holds. But when we’re running the tractor, life-support shuts down regularly, and sometimes the shields. Always keep a mask by your side. The power surges once in a while, and we get a solid mass of rock careening at us at high speed. She’s been holed so many times she looks like a poxy asteroid. Seen enough?”

“For now. Is there somewhere I can get a drink?” Korax tried to minimize his dismay.

“That’s the spirit!” Krill cuffed him on the shoulder. “Drink is the only thing we’re not short of, thanks to Garat.”

 

One of the rusty port buildings turned out to be a bar.

“The natives are Bai’el colonists for the most part. They’ve been here a long time. They don’t bother us, we don’t bother them. They mine in single family groups. Their real homes are out in the Bergen, completely habitformed ‘roids. They bring in high-grade ore, minerals and small amounts of gemstones. Garak buys from them for the Empire, and there are other customers, like the Pajtik freighter you came in on. They don’t think much of us. Trash miners, they call us.”

“Do many of them die out there?”

Krill snorted, laughed. “They don’t usually die in mining accidents!”

“Why isn’t the freighter in better repair?” Korax watched Krill consume a bottle of blood wine in a series of long swallows.

Krill lounged back in his chair, long legs crossed.

“The council sold the maintenance contract to a Bai’el business here. Homeworld didn’t want to transport equipment and supplies -- not to mention personnel! -- out here if they had an economic alternative. The Bai’el keep the engines functioning, but little else. I’m an engineer now, second-class, and I’m the most qualified warrior Garat has. The rest are warrior-thirds who are quarrelsome, inept, and apt to get killed in the line of duty.” He studied Korax. “So, Kendal. You should know this duty is reserved for punishing the troublesome, stupid or inconvenient dregs of service personnel. From the look of you, you’ve been on intelligence duty, tangling with Feds. We don’t see altered warriors this close to home. The men won’t like serving _flatheads_.”

“From what I saw, I doubt I am the ugliest warrior in that bunch.” Korax saw ready humor flash across Krill’s face. “Kahless said the exterior form was but a weapon the brave soul must learn to master.”

“Your new command will not recognize most of the quotes of Kahless. Regardless of what Grahar may have suggested to you, I doubt if Kahless would have approved of tampering with Klingon genetic structure for any reason. Stealth and misdirection are tactics for modern commanders.”

“What makes you different from the rest of the crew? You’re not stupid. That leaves troublesome or inconvenient.”

Krill raised the bottle in a salute. “Or a number of dueling deaths. My mate was a captain-first. He was murdered, I took a blood oath of vengeance. Eventually there was reaction from the council.” Krill shrugged. “He’s dead and I’m in an obscure Klingon hell for the rest of my life. And what did you do? I have never known a Patjik ship to act as transport.”

“How did you know?”

“There isn’t much to talk about here. News of arrivals travels quickly, particularly when one comes in a enviro-tent instead of a warbird’s holding cells.”

Korax finished his wine in a gulp, shrugged. “I am not _don’hel_. You are here because of a man. I am here because of a woman. Warriors should not have sex.”

Krill roared until tears came. “It will be good to have a comrade with a sense of humor,” he said, when he could speak again. “Let’s go back to quarters. There are plenty of empty bunks. If we’re going out again, we need sleep. It will be up to you to check inventory before we leave. Course is preset, I’ll tell you about that tomorrow. I don’t think the men will be happy you’re here. They were hoping to lounge around until a new officer was shipped out.” He stood, grinned as Korax rose to accompany him. “So, if not sex, what will do you do for recreation?”

Korax swore, an oath he had heard aboard the Star. “Merde. A question very much like that precipitated all my misfortune. Maybe someday I’ll have the right answer.”

~ ~ ~

Terrible pain woke Korax in the night. Her face floated in his dream memory, as did mocking Klingon voices. It had been this way every sleep cycle since he had left the Star.

The air was acrid and full of night-noises from the bodies of sleeping warriors. Korax tried to center his thoughts and ignore the throbbing behind his eyes. As bad as his future looked, the miracle of Garat’s promise to partially restore his rank sent a surge of purpose through him. He would do his best. It was a slight chance, but it was a chance.

By Klingon law he could not reclaim her until he achieved his previous rank. It might be unattainable, but what else did he have to work for? To live for?

He tried to relax, but it was hours before the pounding in his head lessened and darkness took away the memories.

 

_KORAX: COMMANDER SECOND_

“Put this piece of excrement into parking orbit, and get the men below,” Korax ordered Krill. He hit the communicator several times before it would transmit. “Agab station. This is the Frar. Send me two of your security personnel. We’re loaded, and the entire ship’s complement is going planetside. If I have to wait for you to show up, I’ll personally find the port director and feed his fingers to Garat’s razorfins.”

Krill grinned through the stiffening burn that covered his scarred face. “I’ve got the transporter working again. The men are below.”

Korax winced as his own face moved in response. The entire crew had been exposed to enough radiation to cause uncomfortable skin burns. And medical supplies had been few. The inventory Korax completed before their departure had turned up so many deficiencies that, on Krill’s suggestion, he had concentrated on rations and emergency oxygen stores. They hadn’t needed the medical supplies until the last few days.

Two Ba’iel materialized, looking sulky. They nodded at Korax, grimaced at the condition of the Frar.

Korax glared back, motioned Krill to the pad. “I’ll send you down, and follow.”

 

He found Garat seated at his desk, contemplating two empty blood wine flasks.

“Twenty-one days! And full holds! Well done.” Garat gestured at a computer slate. “As I promised, commander second-class Kendal. You are evidently a good survivor, and hard worker. We will get along well.”

Korax took a seat without being invited. “Are you aware of the condition of your freighter?”

“You could use some medical attention,” Garat pointed out unnecessarily. “Hot ore?”

“We are paying the Ba’iel to service that piece of extruded refuse?”

“They take care of the engines,” Garat evaded.

“The tractor needs major repairs. The shield generators must be replaced. Computer systems routinely crash when stressed. Hull damage has been improperly repaired, and crew’s quarters are little better than dank, airless holes. They have to sleep with air masks. And the phaser --” Korax ran out of words. “If it doesn’t blow the ship apart soon, it will later.”

“It is a challenge,” Garat agreed genially. “Have a talk with the maintenance firm.”

Korax stood and tucked the tablet into his ragged tunic. “It is good to have the support of one’s commanding officer.”

Garat bared his teeth, waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m surprised they didn’t cut off body parts before they sent you to me. Enjoy your three days.”

“Three? We’re two days early, we should have nine!”

“Transports are early, too. They’ll be here tomorrow. Change in schedule. You’ll have to go out again in three days to meet the new, earlier cycles -- commander.”

Korax left without a word.

Crew quarters were empty. Korax showered and tended to his burns in the quiet barracks. Even supposedly fresh uniforms were dusty and smelled, faintly, as if they had been worn before. Korax dressed, then headed for the bar.

Krill greeted him, and the men almost acknowledged him. They had lost no lives on the trip and seemed to appreciate the fact.

“You saw Garat?” Krill pushed a tankard at him.

Korax downed the thick, sour wine. It seemed to clear minute debris from his throat, accumulated aboard what was now universally referred to by the crew as _the cursed Frar_. “Yes. We have to go back out in three days.”

“So soon.” Krill leaned back, grimacing.

“Normally I wouldn’t interfere with your drinking, but I’m going to need your help. Get a shower and some gel on those burns. We have work to do.”

“Really?” Krill finished his wine. “Just leave some time for drinking.”

Korax surveyed the other Klingons drinking around him. Which one? The one-eyed warrior. Arath was older, mean and tough, but not a troublemaker. He was also marginally brighter than the others. Korax caught his eye and nodded.

Arath stared, considered. He finished his tankard, rose and crossed to the bar. He ordered another.

“You are commander now?” Arath paused before his table.

“Yes. Sit down.”

Arath hesitated, then sat. “We don't think you are _don’hel_ like Krill, but you choose him for a comrade. Most of the men don't care for Krill in spite of the fact he has saved many lives, many times. But I judge you will be an adequate commander, while you live.”

“As commander I say your services as a warrior are required. Krill will also participate.”

Arath’s eye began to glow. “A fight?”

“We will visit the Ba’iel firm that cares for the Frar. To confiscate goods owed the command, and perhaps interrogate incompetent Ba’iel engineers.”

“ _Maj!_ ” Arath thumped his tankard. “This is a fine plan!”

“Then leave here in after you finish that wine. Don’t get drunk! Join me at the port building. Say nothing to the other warriors.”

Arath nodded and walked away with obvious purpose.

 

Korax waited at the entrance to the port building, arms crossed, anger sharpening toward a new goal. He hated Agab's dirty sky, hated the sharp cold air. His face itched, and patches of his beard were falling out where the burns had been the worst.

Krill appeared, hurrying through a dustdevil of burrs and metallic dirt particles. He sheltered in the doorway, stooped into an un-Klingon posture. “Filthy planetoid.”

“Here comes Arath, and another.”

“That’s Lyn, one of the younger ones. Not so sharp,” Krill said.

“Arath. I said -- alone.”

“Share the fight,” Arath met his anger squarely. “Lyn may be warrior-third, but he knows something about security systems. Youthful misdemeanors. And if you plan on confiscation, more hands will lift more goods.”

“That’s true, commander.” Krill nodded unhelpfully.

There was some merit in what Arath said, Korax decided reluctantly. “Then what does he know about the machine shop?”

“Old Ba’iel runs it, with two others, in that complex.” Lyn pointed. “They fix everything around here, charge Klingons a lot, other Ba’iel a little. The old man is out in the habits right now, one is over at the big Ba’iel hostel fixing the plumbing.”

“No other employees?”

“Maybe a couple maintenance workers.” Lyn shrugged. “It’s family time, mealtime. Nobody’s working. Try the loading docks.”

“Take point.”

Lyn inspected a code-key box, then fumbled in his uniform. He swiped a piece of multicolored metal past the reader. “Try the door.”

“It’s not opening.”

“Manually. Push it.” Lyn returned the metal card to a tunic pocket, surveying the rest of the dock.

The door moved slowly. The lights on the code box remained steady.

“Circian machinery. Simple. Inexpensive. Easy to jam.” Lyn’s voice expressed disdain.

"Well done, warrior." Korax led the way inside. “Krill. Tell us what we’re looking for.”

Krill singled out a row of shelving. “These will do for a start. Get a gravi-crate and start pulling one or two parts out of each bin. Arath, that portable welder will be useful.” He disappeared further into the shop as the warriors began to swiftly loot the shelves.

“I have found something interesting.” Krill reappeared with a grin that stretched his scars to the maximum. “He’s got a set of new Klingon shield generators. Big ones, probably slated for a new habitoid. They’re still crated.”

“Klingon generators?”

“He gets more far more cargo from homeworld than we do. He probably paid well for them.”

“How much is the council paying for the maintenance contract?” Korax asked.

“Base log shows that Ba’iel demanded latinum, not credit units. Five bars every two cycles.”

“Five bars? How much work has he done on the Frar?”

Krill spat. “A little engine work in the time I’ve been here, a few inferior hull patches.”

“The council should get return on their contract,” Korax said. “We’re taking the shield generators.”

“That could be trouble.” Krill helped Arath maneuver the gravi-crate toward the door.

“Could we die for it?” Korax asked sarcastically. “Get that crate to the port building, Arath. Lyn, find a sled, then see if you can get the dock doors open. And hurry.”

They loaded the massive crates without incident. The sled moved sluggishly under the load, but it moved.

Lyn beckoned them forward as the dock doors rolled smoothly open. “Cheap machinery,” he reiterated.

“There seems to be a lot of that on Agab. You have useful skills, Lyn.” Korax struggled to control the sled as it slowly moved into open air.

Lyn’s shoulders were thrown back. He swaggered as he followed, letting the dock doors shut silently behind them.

“Park the sled in back of the port building.” Krill paused to catch his breath. “I’ll go inside and arrange a transport.”

They found Arath waiting. “Don’t think anyone noticed.” He sounded disappointed.

They stood in a group, trying to obscure the bulky crates with their bodies. In a moment the soft hum of a directed transporter beam signaled Krill’s success. When Korax looked over his shoulder, the parts and generators had disappeared.

Krill emerged from the port building, grinning like a well-fed razorfin. “Time to pull repair detail. The sooner it’s done, the better.”

“I’ll help,” Lyn volunteered. The young warrior's eyes sparkled with pride.

“That’s a first. You’re in charge, Kendal," Krill said. "Go in and register us as repair detail. We need to get those Ba’iel off the cursed Frar before they notice the crates. And we’ve only got three days to get the generators installed.”

“Well done, everyone. I’m sorry about your drinking time, Krill.”

“I’ll make up for it on our next layover.” Krill saluted him. "Now that I know I'll probably live through another tour in the rock, it will give me something to look forward to.

 

His second trip out in the miner had been far less stressful than the first, thanks to their thievery and Krill's tireless work on the cursed Frar before departing Agab. Korax faced Garat and wondered what new challenge the old warrior was getting ready to present him.

Garat was still at his desk, but the flasks were absent. Another warrior stood beside him, captain-first by his insignia.

“This is Moc. He's captain of the freighter that collects our meager efforts. Captain Moc, this is Kendal, a recent arrival to Agab. He is my new commander on the Frar.”

“Three days early and holds are packed, the men tell me. And it was your own hand that got them out of a hot pocket. Luck or skill, you’ll need them both in this work, Kendal. How do you find ore mining? Your records indicate you were formerly in command.”

“It’s hard work.” Korax tried to measure the captain. Moc's voice and expressions held a disconcerting awareness.

“And the Frar is far from being a warbird.”

“An understatement, Captain Moc.”

“No problems with the warriors? With the local population?”

“No problems.” It wasn't a lie. When situations are resolved, they are no longer a problem, Korax thought judiciously.

“We’ve had a complaint,” Garat said. “Registered with Captain Moc, by a Ba'iel citizen. Some stolen property.”

“I thought the locals had their own security arrangements. We don't provide such service here, do we?” Korax infused a note of surprised inquiry into his question, momentarily channeling Koloth.

“Not usually.” Moc clasped his hands behind his back. “I deal with this Ba’iel because we hold a contract with him, and he seems to feel our presence may be responsible for his loss.”

“A Ba’iel we have a contract with?” Korax asked.

“Maintenance. Ship work,” Garat said. He tugged at his mustache and looked wistfully in the direction of a nearby wall cupboard.

“Ah. I knew Klingons could not be responsible for what I found on the cursed . . . on the Frar,” Korax shrugged. “We’ve been cleaning up, but shoddy maintenance takes its toll.”

Moc smiled thinly. “It does indeed! May I suggest, Commander Kendal, that you visit this Ba’iel and discuss the matter? As practical captain of the Frar, it falls within your duty. You can modify his work schedule with him, to suit your needs.”

“Of course, captain.”

“And you can also take charge of the investigation of the disappearance of two class-two shield generators.”

“How much are such generators worth? Twenty latinum bars, perhaps? That's a significant amount of wealth to a hard working Ba’iel.” Korax shook his head. “I'll certainly speak with him.”

Moc stroked his beard. There was a look in his eyes that could have been suppressed amusement. “That's all, then. I hope to see you still alive next cycle.”

Korax exited the office, relieved and exhilarated. Command would not harass them over the theft. But Moc was a razorfin, or he'd never seen one. Garat’s source of blood wine, and the pocket some of the finer bits of stone went into, he'd wager. And he was left to deal with the Ba’iel. Very well. The work might be hard, but he was going to live through it. And that meant work on the Frar.

Krill met him in front of quarters.

“Let’s go to the bar. I’ve got some news.”

They fought their way through a rising, stinging wind that slashed ice crystals against their faces.

“Winter on Agab lasts too long, and freezes a warrior to his bones,” Krill said. “The men begin fighting over nothing after three months of it.”

“How many winters have you been here?”

“Two.” Krill pounded their tabletop. “Wine!”

“Wait.” Korax went to the bar, consulted with the old Ba'iel tender. A dark bottle appeared from a dusty crate. The tender took his credit slugs and handed him two glasses.

"Try this." Korax poured brown liquid from the bottle, held it to the light. He tasted it. “Human whiskey. Not as bad as Tribblion whiskey, but then I’ve never tasted anything worse than Tribblion whiskey.”

Krill tasted it, then spat it back into his glass. “It’s terrible!” He looked at the glass for a moment before tossing the liquor down his throat. “But it bites. When did you taste Tribblion whiskey? I thought the council chased those smugglers away from borderspace.”

“They may have, although I doubt it.” Korax sat back in the unsteady chair. “Captain Moc spoke with me. The Ba’iel have complained about the missing generators, but he'll do nothing for now. Moc ordered me to oversee the Ba'iel's maintenance schedule.”

Krill roared, and slapped Korax on the back. “That was a piece of good work. We’ve already lengthened our life expectancy by months. We’ve fixed the shield and tractor problem, and the transporter is in better shape. The worst spots in the hull have been patched properly. We’ll have time to do more work while we mine. Now if we could rip out that phaser, we all might live to retire from the service.”

The bar was cold. Korax looked around at the gloomy faces as he drank more whiskey. “I want a replicator on her, and fewer of those field rations. The men work hard, they deserve better.”

“Ambitious.” Krill looked at him over his glass rim, suddenly intent. “I don’t think you’re doing this to earn supporters. Garat is practically dead, a Ba’iel child could assassinate him. They wouldn’t promote you to his position, they’d ship out another old addict or embarrassment.”

“I just want to live through this duty,” Korax said simply. “And making life safer for everyone seems the best way to accomplish that.”

“The men know you wake in the night.” Krill set his glass down on the battered table. “You have the symptoms of a man who narrowly escaped brain-damage and death under the sifter. They don’t really care what you did. The fact you are alive and working off honor-taint indicates it couldn’t have been too unpalatable to command. Or that someone close to you had more credit than these men are used to thinking about. If you have a family and land to regain, I honor your effort.”

Korax refilled their glasses. “I'll tell you about it, some day. If we live. It's a tale of battle, although marred by deception and incomprehensibility. Female incomprehensibility.”

“Females cause misery and trouble,” Krill said flatly. “How you can prefer them is a mystery. How one could get you exiled to Agab should be a fine story. It was a councilor's wife that caused the events leading to the death of my mate, her husband, and several of her household.”

“But you lived through it,” Korax said. “Only a true warrior survives such a thing.”

“It was an affair of honor. I was a weapons master, assigned to Fleissa. I could have been Shahar. Her family assassins failed, her brothers failed, and the council could not in honor order my death. But the political ramifications of the deaths touched other families. So I’m stuck here for a long time. Who could love a Klingon female?” Krill asked with disgust.

“It wasn't a _Klingon_ female who drove the events that landed me here,” Korax said. He found he wanted to tell Krill the story. In spite of Krill’s admission of a sexual preference that Korax didn't share, the warrior’s company was as comfortable as the bond he had made with Koltan aboard the Gr'oth.

“A female, but not a Klingon female?” Krill was intrigued. “Is this a riddle? Was she Circian? Romulan? What other species is there in borderspace enough like us to contemplate --?” Krill sat forward. He looked at the whiskey bottle. “If what I am thinking is true, how could you be alive? Command would never bother with exile. A human female?”

“A human female.” Korax shrugged. “A most extraordinary female.”

“And they think I am the most notorious member of our company." Krill shook his head in admiration. "You had sex with a human, spent time under a sifter, and sit here alive with me tonight, drinking human whiskey?” He shook his head. “You may be the luckiest warrior alive.”

“Luckiest? Perhaps, although probably not for the reasons you most easily perceive.”

“Was she a smuggler? Is that where you had a taste of Tribblion whiskey?” Krill asked slyly.

“She is a H’russ ship captain, a smuggler, _sheld’kaj_. Dangerous. Desirable. And she is my oath-mate.”

“H’russ? _Sheld’kaj_? Your oath-mate?” Krill sat back, slapping one hand on the table. “By the hells, you are demented. Llant’Gornu is the only human _sheld’kaj_ alive.” He gripped Korax’ forearm. “Gornu is the reason you are here? And they didn’t flay you and string your entrails from Fleissa to Quonos?”

“Kor wanted to, but had other business. She bought me this post,” Korax said, eyes fixed on his whiskey glass. “My captain told me she threatened him with wraith-oath if he didn’t arrange it. If was a threat Koloth took seriously.”

“You don’t seem like a warrior who would be part of such a relationship.” Krill was still amazed. “She blew a warbird to space debris, and is responsible for the deaths of many warriors in combat. She has harassed the command in borderspace, and is avoided by even the most imprudent captains. Gornu is the only human female the high council has ever named warrior -- albeit _sheld’kaj_. Why would such a one buy safety for you?”

“We parted under strained conditions,” Korax said. “I had just lost my name, my post, been informed by my captain that instead of dying I would have to work off honor-amend in some hell-hole. I had been drugged by Kor’s men, and questioned under a sifter. Her officers view me as dead ghagk, and do not trouble to hide their opinion. And when we spoke our farewells, she was wearing Arcanii whitemail, and seemed prepared to duel with Fek’Ihr himself. Truthfully I don't know why she bothered to save me, although in the beginning I thought she had chosen me as her mate. At the end, I could no longer make sane judgment. She is human, and incomprehensible.”

“And I thought our sortie in the machine shop was high adventure!” Krill’s eyes were on fire. “You are one of those warriors cursed by Shaitan to have a destiny.”

“Cursed indeed. By law I can't attempt to discover the truth between us until I regain my former status, and honor-amend is achieved. I don’t believe I will ever see her again. Yet she is my oath-mate, and I miss her with every breath I breathe.” Korax knew his voice betrayed the depth of his feeling. He drank a shot of whiskey, quickly.

“I will write an opera about this!” Krill gestured dramatically. “What a great spectacle it would be, performed under the night sky at the amphitheater on Fleeisa.”

Korax glared at him. “Weapons master you may be, but I should hit you for that.”

“I’m serious,” Krill said. “I’ll bet I could make a fortune. Humans are the most interesting topic on homeworld right now. Will we join with them? Will we confront them? Such an opera, with a cross-species romance, betrayal, redemption . . . and what should I do for the finale?”

“Eat the barroom floor, if you don’t shut up,” Korax growled. “I think we’ve had enough to drink, and the morning will be busy. Let’s get some sleep.”

Krill knocked his chair back, stood and stretched. “Back to the rock,” he agreed. “Arath and Lyn are on duty above? It would be a shame to lose our new equipment through lack of precaution.”

“They are. We won’t be using port personnel from now on. It will be extra duty for the men, but perhaps we can make it worth their effort.”

They headed back to quarters through a hail of snow, Krill bellowing a popular operatic air in a melodic tenor voice. Korax scooped up a handful of ice, packed it hard, and threw it at his head.

 

The freighter and the Frar left orbit at the same time, although their destinations were in nearly opposite directions. Korax looked around the control room. It was clean, and the walls had a fresh application of paint. Access panel covers had been replaced. All the lights worked.

He checked the computer. All systems were functioning, and reports from the hold doors, phaser bay, engines, shields and tractor registered steadily and accurately.

“You’ve done a lot of work,” he said to Krill, who was seated cross-legged on the floor, disemboweling another control bank.

“One of the Ba’iel helped me. A friend. He knows more about Altassian computers, but he’s a quick learner.”

Korax nodded. “So it seems.”

Krill grinned up at him. “Can’t afford to make sarcastic remarks on _that_ subject, can you?”

“What subject?" Korax couldn't help laughing. "How long before we get to mining coordinates?”

“Soon. I changed our course slightly, after talking to the Ba’iel. True, there’s enough rock out here to keep the entire command busy for the next three generations, but the Ba’iel mine for quality rather than quantity. He said to try some of the bigger rocks in this section.”

“Can we use that phaser on the bigger rocks?”

“We can try. If it doesn’t work we’ll head for the smaller stuff, and bring back a load of gravel. The command wants ore, they don’t seem to care about quality.”

Korax nodded.

“Kendal.” A voice came from the wall com. “This is Teng in hold one. We’ve just had a transport from the freighter! Looks like assorted supplies.”

“Take them to med bay.”

“What is that?” Krill asked. “From Moc? He’s trouble, Kendal.”

“We needed medical supplies, other things. I promised to watch for blood-quartz, which Moc seems to particularly favor.” Korax shrugged.

“Punishment for theft is swift and ugly,” Krill warned. “Garat had half a crew killed two years ago for taking rock.”

“Garat does his own stealing. We'll reach an understanding on our next layover. What do we have to lose, Krill? Our lives?” Korax grimaced. “I will live as a warrior, since I have the chance. Warriors do not live in excrement.”

“Check the engines. We’re even more underpowered with those new shields. I admit this is only an annoyance compared to the danger of the old ones.”

“Make a list. The engines will be a priority when we get back.” Korax studied the readings. “Why weren’t some of these things done sooner, Krill? You seem capable, for an ex-weapons master. This hulk has been neglected for years.”

“The last captain, the one who got his head crushed in a rock jam, didn’t like _don’hel_ , and tried to trip me in front of the tractor while it was pulling rock. I stayed away from him and kept the transporters working. The captain before him was a thief, one of those Garat executed. He went in looking for precious stone in places this ship shouldn’t have ventured. You’re the first decent officer that's been here since I arrived. Arath says you’re the first decent officer that’s been here since the post was laid down. He’s been here that long.”

Korax watched Krill’s long, scarred fingers move swiftly through the components. “The Ba’iel don’t use phasers. How do they mine? I know they use small scout-class ships, and bring out value rather than mass. But how do they get it out of the rock?”

“Small explosives.” Krill growled under his breath at the age of the parts he had removed. “We could use computer components that aren't older than Garat's underchaps.”

“Charges? Set by hand? Transporter?”

“By hand. They use pressure-skins and power-scooters. Have you seen them used in repair facilities? They scan the rock, find faults, then crack rock with explosives. They know what they’re looking for, and take the good stuff out with handcutters.”

“That sounds efficient. Have we tried anything similar?”

“No. The cursed Frar came with the phaser, so that’s what was used. Klingons do a lot of mining, but we have few trained miners. The Ba’iel brought that to my attention.”

“Something to think about.”

“Especially as there’s a warehouse full of Klingon ordinance on Agab. When they created the post, the specifications for field outfitting were more generous. And since we have little use for photon torpedoes, hand phasers, and grenades . . .”

“Interesting. Garat and I are definitely going to have a long talk.”


	2. Chapter 2

**YEAR TWO AFTER WRIGLEY**

 _GORNU: GHAST_

Driin was a dry, wind-etched planet that looked inhospitable from space, and uninhabitable from ground level.

Sheltered in a doorway, face covered from nose to chin with a flap of hood from her survival poncho, Llant watched three dust devils form and dissipate over the dirt roadway that ran like an old scar past the front of the warehouse. Her thoughts were already focused past the immediate delivery toward their next destination.

"They're ready to accept cargo," Morgan shouted, her voice rising from somewhere behind a pile of rusted storage trunks. "I've given coordinates to Star. They're starting the transfer now."

Llant turned and took a step into the stifling gloom of the warehouse. "And our load to Lhas?"

"Inspection complete."

Llant saw the movement of Morgan's poncho, then a reflected flash as her goggles caught the yellow light hovering above the entry.

"It's mostly dried cactus fruit, and crates of braided plant fiber," Morgan said, consulting her slate. "Some local liqueurs, and small art pieces. It's all bio-sealed and bubble packed."

"Start loading as soon as Sheila gets that bay empty. I'm going to check out the settlement."

Morgan pushed back her hood and snapped the lenses of her goggles open. "Wolfe said specifically not to let you --"

"Wolfe is not my mother. I'll be fine."

"I'll come looking if you're not back in a half hour." Morgan tried to make meaningful eye contact. "Be careful."

" _Nanny_ is not one of the responsibilities I included on your contract." Llant turned toward the door.

"Then quit acting like you need one." As usual, Morgan was determined to get the last word.

The wind hit her body with staggering force as she left the shelter of the warehouse. Llant blamed Wolfe for Morgan's attitude, then reassessed with weary honesty. Her own behavior was responsible for her crew's current state of over-protective alert.

The buildings were made of weathered, ochre-smeared rock. Most of the planet's inhabitants were native Driin, but since prospectors had flocked to the Bergen Field and borderspace, a sprinkling of other inhabitants could be found on the fringes of the uninterested Driin community. Permanent buildings were the work of other races. Driin preferred natural rock caverns, or simply squatted under their massive carapaces when the winds became too wild.

Peering through the yellow, driving dust, Llant identified a hospitality establishment by the eroded tradesign marker. _Beverages_ she translated. Did that mean more than water? If there were humans on planet, there would surely be alcohol.

It was dim inside, but less stifling than the warehouse. She could hear the low-pitched thrum of laboring air purifiers. The strong smell of mineral dust that seemed to clog her lungs began to lessen.

The place contained the usual collection of mismatched booths and tables, but an unexpectedly beautiful polished stone backbar ran along the wall across from the door. Llant stepped up and fingered the cold surface. The primrose and scarlet-veined stone recalled the beauty of sunrise on Vulcan.

"Help you?" A young Circian appeared, wearing a respirator over his flat nose.

"Whiskey?"

"Sorry. For humans, maybe some kir'jeliq? It's Klingon, but should be to your taste."

Llant savored the unintended innuendo of his words. "I'll try it."

"MORE WINE YOU SLUG!"

The unmistakably Klingon roar came from a shadowed recess against the far wall. It was so unexpected Llant turned and stared before her hand went to the phaser on her belt.

The Circian winced and snuffled in his respirator. "He makes me nervous."

"Drinking blood wine?" Llant's eyes probed the shadow. Adrenaline surged along her nerves. There were reports of Klingon civilians mining the Bergen, but the Star had never crossed paths with any of them.

"He just started. When he gets like this he'll drink for half a day, then break a table and head out into the desert. He always comes back, though," the Circian grumbled.

"Give me a bottle, I'll take it to him." Llant paid for the liqueur and wine.

"Are you sure?" The Circian's head bobbed nervously. "I won't be responsible."

Llant ignored him, picked up the bottle and glass, and made her way through the litter toward the booth.

He was an old, very solid warrior with no genetic modifications. His dark, angry eyes were set under whorled brow ridges that disappeared into his high silver hairline. "I'm not interested in anything but wine." He picked up the empty bottle in front of him and launched it at her head.

Llant dodged, and heard the Circian curse as the bottle exploded against the backbar. "No wonder he doesn't want to serve you." She placed the blood wine on the table.

"He is a puling, cowardly Circian. What would you expect?" The Klingon ignored his mug and tipped the bottle to his mouth. When he came up for air, he wiped his moustache with one hand. "Female under the garments. Human? Who in all the hells are you?"

"Who in all the hells are you?" Llant sat carefully in the chair across the table, one hand on her phaser under a drape of poncho. "I have reason to believe Klingons are perpetually cranky because of the clothing they are forced to wear. Your underchaps must be particularly constricting."

His eyes changed, mild inebriation vanishing like heat lightning over the desert. "That's an imprudent way to address an elder. By Kahless, what would you know of Klingon undergarments, _thari_?"

"You'd be surprised." Llant lifted her glass. "May you die in battle."

The old warrior's eyes fell to his wine. "I am already dead." He upended the bottle again.

"Dead Klingons apparently consume large amounts of wine." Llant waved at the Circian. "Bring us another bottle of wine, and one of this liqueur."

"That's nasty stuff," the Klingon observed. "Never liked it much."

"Bittersweet, but it has a nice afterglow." Llant let herself relax just enough to imply to the Klingon she was off guard, no threat. "How is it I can sit here drinking with a cranky dead warrior?"

"I wonder the same thing. You won't need that phaser. Killing a human female would bring me no honor." He pulled a quarter slug of latinum from his tunic, and hurled it toward the Circian. "That's my last. I am reduced to conversing with a human female in one of Shaitan's toe-hollows. My next trip into the desert will be my last. I have no further resources, and I am sick of this sandpit. The next gfleurg I face will be my transport to Stovokor."

"Gfleurg?"

"Native big game animal. Teeth, claws, spines and barbs, with a temperament to match its exterior. They are cunning and vicious, and very hard to kill." The old warrior reached under his tunic, pulled a necklace over his head and tossed it at her. "Gfleurg teeth. Taken from my leg, for the most part, although I removed a few with my d'ktagh."

Llant examined the ivory-colored collection of serrated bone. "Vicious weapons," she said.

"It wouldn't be safe to handle, but I had it bonded with sealer. Gfleurg teeth carry their saliva, a caustic, toxic substance that induces pain and confusion."

"A fitting quarry for a Klingon warrior."

He shook his head, judiciously. "True."

The liqueur kicked a wall of heat up her body. Llant took another mouthful. She watched him, as he watched her.

"Tell me the tale, for I would hear the glories of the hunter and the hunted." The traditional request startled him. Llant saw his eyes narrow and sweep the bar toward the entrance.

"Ah. You've picked up some Klingon customs, _thari_. You ask what a gfleurg may be, but understand my reference to Stovokor." He stared at her, eyes the black of space. "A strange meeting. I should relate my tale to someone before I die, and Kahless, in his infinite capacity to try warriors, has sent you to hear it."

He let his shoulders rest against the back of his chair, waiting until the Circian brought the bottles.

"You're on your own. I'm taking a break." The Circian backed away, then disappeared behind the backbar.

Llant sipped her liqueur and waited.

"My name is Ghast," his foot nudged her shin under the table. "You won't need that weapon either, this time."

"It's a habit." Llant smiled. "I notice you're adept at drinking with one hand."

The edges of Ghast's wine-stained mustache curled into a fierce, Klingon expression of good humor. "As you say, it's a habit. Until recently I was assassin-elite for the Klingon High Council. My honor is unquestioned, my skill unmatched, my name respected and feared. True, I am getting older, but my ability to hold my position and execute my duties has also never been questioned. But it seems my position was coveted."

Ghast drained his mug, and refilled it. "There have been great changes on homeworld. My teacher, Tempaq, would never have sat here speaking with you. You would be lying dismembered by that bar, and he would be hunting the rest of your companions. He was as we were before the farther reaches of space expanded before us. Today there are Klingons on the high council that offer the knife to humans almost willingly, searching to bring expansion to the empire through participation with the great alien governments we have met in recent history.

"I am of a generation between. I spoke against allying ourselves with the Federation, and others evidently decided a younger man would better serve the council in my post. This is conjecture. For the last six months on this rock I have asked myself why events brought me here.

"Some members of the council, and the elite warriors that surround them, had planned a hunting excursion to this place. Gfleurg are trophy game. We hunt them with hand stunner and batleth, and take them in single combat.

"The night we made camp we found the sign of a huge, old gfleurg. It was taken as a good omen. Now, I believe someone had marked the beast previously, and guided us to that place. The youngsters had been pushing me since we took ship from homeworld, just short of challenging behavior. I attributed this to their high spirits and the natural inclination of young warriors to make names for themselves. When we found the lair, councilman Tenos and I went in to flush the beast out. I have done this thing many times, and Tenos was an old hand at gfleurg hunting. The beast is pricked with hand stunners to force it to the surface; they get crazed when they find something in their hole, and usually exit at high speed. It is important not to get in their way as they exit. The hand stunner keeps them moving toward the surface.

"My hand stunner, although it showed a full charge, did not fire. Tenos had stung it, and was already exiting when a ton of teeth and bad nature paused to examine me. I pulled my batleth from my back and feinted at the creature's face. It fastened on the steel and cracked it like a nutshell.

"With its jaws still clamped on my weapon, it looped one of its eight spiny arms around my legs, and began dragging me backward deep into its rock. I was not quiet during the trip.

"I heard voices seem to respond from outside, and I believe they fired at it from farther up the tunnel. But no one came after me." Ghast paused to take a lengthy drink of wine.

"I was injured and very, very angry. The gfleurg had my lower body wedged in its jaws, leisurely considering a Klingon snack as it ground through to my leg bones. It had turned its head sideways to enjoy this activity, the only thing that saved my life. I keep a d'ktagh somewhere on me at all times. You know this blade?" Ghast pulled a three-bladed knife from his sleeve, tested it with his finger and replaced it. "It went through the beast's eye into its brain. Then I had to hang on for another hour while that simple brain informed the rest of the body it was dead. The sensation confused it so much it stopped gnawing on my leg, and began beating me against the rocks.

"When I regained consciousness and crawled out, the camp was gone. I tried to raise the ship, but my communicator could find only static. They had left me for dead and departed. I would like to know who holds my post now, and what _p'tak_ it was who drained my stunner. But I am honorably dead, so what do these things matter?"

"And the Klingon duty to take revenge for dishonorable action?" Llant sat back, liqueor forgotten as she absorbed the story.

"It may be a complex thing." Ghast answered slowly. "The warrior who holds my post may have no knowledge of what happened. Those young warriors, primed to harass me, may have no knowledge of what drove them to that behavior. The only clue I may find is in the affiliations the new assassin-elite may have - who are his patrons? Who is his family? It is a torturous method of seeking revenge, and could be lengthy. By our law, I don't have to accept this burden. I may accept honorable death, and know my name appears unstained on the warrior's list. The one responsible for engineering such a thing will eventually show other taint, and be dealt with by his peers."

"You are an incomprehensible people." Llant leaned forward to meet his dark, direct stare. "I wish I understood your culture and customs."

"Captain. It's time to go."

Llant grimaced, uncomfortably aware that not only had Morgan found her, but she hadn't noticed her crewmember enter the bar. Predictably, Morgan stared at Ghast with dismay.

"Go get a drink." Llant gestured at the bar. "The tender's hiding in the back. That's an order."

Morgan backed off, her hand twitching between phaser and communicator.

"Don't do either, Morgan. Don't piss me off," Llant warned.

"Captain? You're a freetrader?" Ghast asked.

"That's one of the things I've been called," she said cautiously.

"You haven't introduced yourself, and let an old Klingon ramble to an unknown listener." Ghast was clearly no longer relaxed.

Llant shrugged. "I am Llant'Gornu. My ship is the Takka'aq Dorg."

Ghast's laughter shook the booth. "By Kahless! My last battle tale, and he sends a _sheld'kaj_ human female to be witness."

"It was a fine tale, I offer you honor and respect. Shall I challenge you?" Llant asked. She ignored Morgan's frantic hand signals.

Ghast shook his head. "And you claim _we_ are incomprehensible. I would slice you into chunks, _thari_. I don't need to add a _sheld'kaj_ to my slate at the end of my life."

"Perhaps Kahless had another plan for you. What does that word mean, _thari_?"

Ghast stroked his mustache. "Mm. You might say -- newly born child, demanding and perfectly female. Informal term for untried female warrior."

"Condescending and inappropriate," Llant laughed. "What if I offered to take you off this rock, to wherever you wish to go." She held eye contact with him. "I could take you to Quonos, if you wish, without damaging too many warbirds in the process. To pay for the trip you could educate me about the Klingon sense of humor."

"You are an arrogant female, and dangerous. I won't be responsible for inflicting you on our homeworld captains," Ghast shook his head, deep laughter rumbling from his throat.

"If I offered you a berth as part of my crew?" She wanted to keep him, it occurred to her as she made the ridiculous offer. This massive old Klingon with death peering around the humor in his black eyes, she wanted to keep him. Their meeting had been inevitable, necessary. _It isn't just because of Korax. This dangerous old warrior was meant to find me._

"I'm a warrior, that is all I know." Ghast still seemed amused. "You have bigger stones than most of our council members."

"Train me in batleth. Teach me Klingon custom and tradition. Be my weapons master, and when you find a place you would call your final destination, I'll bring you there." Llant felt something knot deep in her stomach. She leaned forward, extending both hands toward the old Klingon, palms upward.

"Why would you offer this?" The change in the old warrior was immediate, sternness replacing laughter. "Do you not fear me?"

"I respect you," Llant answered slowly. "I suspect you could kill me in combat. What are your options? You would rather be mauled by a gfleurg again? Would you die with sand in your beard, and have no one howl for you? Do you believe Kahless meant for you to die without proper revenge?" Llant pointed at his sleeve. "I offer you blood."

Ghast withdrew the d'ktagh slowly, and handed it to her.

Llant watched his face as she sliced her palm.

"Captain!" Morgan shot off her bar stool.

Ghast took his knife from her, cut his palm, and took the bleeding hand Llant offered him with a grasp that made the corners of her eyes twitch.

"I will be a hard tutor, _thari_. You are slight, and weak, and female. You will break under the training you request."

"I'll try and surprise you." Llant stood, still clasping his hand. "Get on your feet, old warrior. My crew is going to hate you."

Ghast unfolded from the booth. He towered over her. "It is an interesting thing, to be dead."

"Captain. You're bleeding all over." Morgan had her kit out. "Of all the stupid, inconsiderate, shortsighted . . ."

"He's bleeding too," Llant pointed out as Morgan finished tending her injury.

Standing as far away from him as she could, and still use her med kit, Morgan swiped Ghast's hand with her regenerator. "Done."

Llant touched her stud, exhilaration that had nothing to do with alcohol rushing through her blood. "Star: Three to beam up."

 

Morgan was off the transporter pad before Llant's eyes could focus, putting distance between her captain and the old Klingon. Llant grinned as her vision returned to normal. Wolfe and Sheila faced Ghast with drawn phasers.

"It wasn't my fault!" Morgan insisted.

"You're useless!" Wolfe snapped as Morgan eased past her toward the exit. "Captain. Who the hell is that?"

"Be polite, Wolfe. This is assassin-elite Ghast, the Star's new weapons master."

"Are you deranged? When are you going to stop . . ." Wolfe swallowed the remainder of her protest.

"Not deranged, Wolfe. He's going to be a good business investment," Llant said.

"Right. And I've got a good deal on neutered tribbles," Sheila muttered.

"Star," Llant spoke to the H'russ, ignoring Sheila's comment. "Call Allallu, Poppy, Morgan and Carey to the conference room." She nodded at Wolfe. "You come, too. Sheila, go to the bridge and work out a course to Lhas with Star. No gossiping. I've put up with a lot lately. It's going to stop."

"I want his weapons, Captain." Wolfe stood her ground. "He's got at least a phaser and three knives."

Llant turned to find Ghast watching her, his arms folded across his chest. "Give her the phaser. Then I'll introduce you to the senior members of my crew."

Ghast reached inside his cloak. He handed his phaser to Llant as he stepped from the pad. "That would be most interesting."

Wolfe accepted the alien phaser from her captain. "The knives!"

"Forget the knives for now, and keep an eye on him." Llant moved toward the door. "Follow me, Ghast. Wolfe will follow you."

 

"Wolfe is my first officer," Llant said from her place at the head of the conference table. "Continuing around: Carey, ship's physician; Allallu, commerce; Morgan, communications; Poppy, security."

There was a thick silence in the room. Only Ghast seemed comfortable. The old Klingon watched the women eye him, and began to smile and finger his mustache, an expression that did not make him appear less formidable.

"I'm not asking for input on this. I'm telling you he's here and why. He can be treated as a guest who needs security monitoring. You'll do that anyway! But he is joining this crew and you'll all adjust. He is dangerous, and I admit I know relatively little about him."

Morgan made a rude noise.

Llant glared at her, then continued. "You're all getting lazy. We haven't dealt with a security risk in a long time. Hone your skills. Any problems, come to _me_. Wolfe, he'll have quarters adjacent to the gym. Questions?"

They stared at her.

"Permission to speak frankly? Are you insane?" Carey scowled. "We can't keep this Klingon aboard. If he has the rank you indicate, he's more than a potential threat to this ship. He's a certain threat."

"It is a matter of honor." Ghast rose to his feet, and touched his palm. "I'll train her, and offer no harm to this ship or its crew. We have pledged our intent in blood. In honor I cannot do otherwise."

"And I wouldn't advise impugning his honor. Dismissed." Llant stood.

"You have a reputation for despising my race, but your crew offers far more evidence of this attitude," Ghast said, when they were alone. "That tall dark woman, your first officer. She has good stance, and excellent length of arm and leg. I would like to train her also."

"I'm sure Wolfe will benefit from your training." Llant smiled at the thought. "We'll work out a schedule for the entire crew. Now, let me introduce you to Star."

"The ship?" Ghast looked around at the walls.

"Yes." Llant lay her palm on the surface of the conference table, and felt the pulse of Star's presence. "Star, this is Ghast. What do you know about him?"

"He is Klingon, approximately 95 years of age; in excellent physical condition, although he has a recent injury to his right leg that would benefit from additional medical attention. He will be occupying quarters 3-14, adjacent to the gymnasium. He is considered a maximum security risk. His shipboard occupation will be weapons training. He has been entered as a working crewmember, and allotted an appropriate number of credit points for his service. The replicator in his quarters is restricted to foodstuffs and items of apparel," Star responded. "Ghast: She is pleased to have you here, so I welcome you also. I have observed her officers spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about her behavior, yet her instincts are excellent and seldom result in actual disaster."

Ghast stared at the wall. "I have heard of this unique ship, but failed to appreciate its potential. Is it always like this?"

"Star doesn't talk much, and she thinks too much, but we get along very well." Llant let her hand sink a bit deeper into the surface of the table, sending her affection clearly to the H'russ. "Let's go. I'll show you the rest of her interior."

They finished the tour at the gym. "This ship is yours, and belongs to no government," Ghast mused, surveying the equipment. "You are a wealthy citizen of the Federation."

"I suppose some people view me that way. Others view me as a pestilent evader of regulations, and infringer of trade-rights. The Feds don't like me because I'm a renegade from their own ranks, whose ship is equipped with technology I have refused to let them exploit. We stay in borderspace, for the most part, and try to keep working," Llant said.

"My old Klingon mind has a lot to digest. Take me to my quarters."

They walked down the corridor. "These are your private quarters. Star, key to Ghast's voice."

The Klingon faced the panel. "Ghast!" The door opened. "You mark ship's time in hours? Be at the gym in six hours. We will begin your training."

 

Cleaned of dust, beard and mustache trimmed, wearing a Klingon tunic and loose pants, Ghast presented an imposingly solid figure. Arms crossed, he frowned as Llant joined him on the floor of the gym.

"Your attire is inappropriate."

Llant looked down at her exercise shorts and halter. "It's what I usually wear to exercise," she said.

"If you're cut, you'll bleed all over the floor!" Ghast indicated his rough tunic. "Your arms are bare. What will slow and control the bleeding?"

The expression on his face indicated he thought she was somehow defective. Llant found herself laughing uncontrollably.

"Human female!" The bass of his outrage vibrated in the walls. "Is it possible you offer me disrespect?"

"I mean no disrespect." Llant's voice wavered, then steadied. "I finally understand why you wear those dreadful uniforms. The realization was so sudden it caused an inappropriate emotional response."

"Dreadful uniforms? Our textiles are woven of fibers that will cling to a wound and slow blood loss, assist clotting. In a lengthy confrontation, this is of vital concern. No warrior wants to slip in another's blood."

The volume of his voice had decreased, but the sense of affronted menace grew as he carefully explained the virtues of his clothing.

Llant bit her tongue in panic. "I can understand that reasoning," she gasped. "Must I plan on losing blood, then?" A wave of laughter rose from deep in her chest.

Ghast roared. His d'ktagh appeared in his hand.

"Ghast!" Llant moved to one side as he sliced the air where her stomach had been.

He spun and flicked the knife toward her face.

Llant deflected his hand and kicked his leg, a strike that reverberated through her bones. He wavered, then regained his balance with a fluid movement.

"You're fast. That's good." The knife whistled past her head and stopped, buried halfway to the hilt, in a points board on the far wall. "Are you done laughing?"

She faced him warily. "I am."

"Then we begin again. I withdraw my criticism of your attire. If you continue to move that quickly, you may experience relatively little blood loss in training. Not a bad thing." Ghast composed himself. "Stand before me and listen. At the age of three years, young warriors begin these exercises. They become part of the daily routine, progressing to more exacting exercises as they grow. You will have to start at the beginning, and master them all.

"We will practice hand-to-hand techniques, mechleth and batleth dueling. It is traditional for the tutor to recite stories of Klingon valor and excellence in arms during these early days. As you have evidenced a desire to understand Klingon culture and customs, I will attempt to suppose you are a small Klingon boy." He peered at her face as he caught her changing expression. "I warn you."

"I will cooperate fully," Llant said, her face carefully composed.

"Then begin by mimicking what I do, and listen closely."

Three hours later Llant was exhausted, sweating and overwhelmed by the amount of Klingon language Ghast had tried to pour into her mind.

"To think like a warrior, you must know how to speak like one." Ghast grabbed the towel she threw at him. "Your unarmed physical combat capabilities are good, but you expressed a wish to learn to fight like a Klingon. Don't fall back on the other disciplines you know."

"Yes, teacher."

"And cultivate a more respectful attitude. I know when you're laughing at me, _thari_."

Llant laughed, then groaned. "I thought I was in fairly good condition. I want a shower. Will you come to my quarters after you shower? I have something to show you."

 

"This is even worse than my quarters." Ghast looked around her sitting room.

"Too soft?" Llant stood behind the bar, arranging things on a tray. A forbidden memory surfaced. "I find these rooms pleasant," she said, pushing away the memory of the only other Klingon who had seen her quarters. "A selection of juices. I wasn't sure what you'd find palatable."

She carried the tray to the low table in front of the couch, sitting down in the slight depression that marked her favorite spot. "Rearrange your quarters any way you like. Star is capable of altering any portion of your living space to suit you. Pull up the carpeting, change the floor to rock, if that makes you more comfortable."

Ghast shook his head. He dismissed the couch with a look, then sat cross-legged on the floor. "I have been meditating on my sudden change of employment."

"Second thoughts?" Llant saw his look of inquiry. "Do you still wish to be part of the Star's crew?"

"Yes. And this surprises me." Ghast sniffed a glass, took a drink. "Will others in your crew be as eager to face me on the exercise floor?"

"No. But I promise you a steady supply of students. Your training will be superior to our holographic programs," Llant said. Her mental vision of Ghast and Morgan working out together brought her a warm sense of anticipation.

"What did you wish to show me?"

"Our new colony." Llant wedged her shoulder into the back of the couch. "Star, play colony update."

Ghast watched the neutral-colored wall iris into an exterior space shot.

"That tiny planet is Star Colony. Those are Circian industrial tugs. It took three of them, with the Star, to slightly alter its orbit.

"See the polar ice areas? It had small amounts of liquid surface water in its old orbit, and a marginal atmosphere. We found basic plant-life: moss and lichen, with grasses, low brush and desert-like succulents near sheltered hotspring areas. Simple insect life, no animal life."

"Quite a feat, even for three tugs and a starship." Ghast stared at the image of the brassy-colored sphere.

"Yes. Star gave the procedure a low chance of success, but I think she viewed it as a personal challenge. With her help, we've apparently been successful. Introduced plantings were started immediately, and we've already had some rainfall."

"Atmospheric shields? Gravity enhancing generators?"

"Probably forever. Sheila has a series of satellites, but we need something better soon. And satellites are so vulnerable," Llant said.

Ghast watched the lumbering tugs steadily exert force on the nearly planet-size rock. "A significant undertaking," he said at last.

"Significant to my crew. We will build homes, families. Begin traditions. Explore the social dynamics a group of such diverse races and cultures will produce. The nesting instinct is strong."

"Even in Klingons. Family is as important as fighting."

Llant nodded. "So, if you find no old port calls you, you might find a new port."

"I will remember your invitation." Ghast stood. "Now, you promised me pupils. How do I get Wolfe into the gym?"

 

Llant woke to find herself sitting on the edge of her bed. Room illumination was still at sleep-level. Her chronometer indicated she had slept barely two hours. She lay back, reached for the wall and sank her fingers deep into the living material of the Star.

 _Why did I bring him aboard?_

Star touched her mind. _I've been watching your physical signature. I knew you were troubled. But he is not what troubles you most. You like him, Gem._

 _I am obsessed with Klingons, Star. Obsession is dangerous. Stupid._

 _This is not obsession. You respond to his strength and his physical competence. And his presence may be beneficial for all the crew. If I see indications otherwise, I will alert you._

Llant let the familiar bump and nuzzle of Star's mind expose the ache she had learned to ignore. _I still want him._

 _I know. I also see the black place in you has been healing. Your crew is glad. I am glad. This other Klingon may promote further healing._

 _You're an optimist, my love._

 _May I share your dreams tonight?_

 _You know me too well already._ Llant felt the bed reform around her. She stretched against the soft, warm cocoon the H'russ had formed. _You're welcome to watch, just don't participate._

 _As if I would. Go back to sleep._

 

 _WOLFE: COLONY BUILDING_

"He's a good teacher, I'll give him his due. Her progress has been amazing. She was a good athlete and fighter before; now she's deadly." Wolfe evaluated the faces of her crewmates around the table. Her half-hearted defense of Ghast's usefulness was met with a variety of dubious expressions.

"You like to fight," Morgan said. "I knew you'd cross to her side sooner or later. Doesn't it bother you that they spend hours in that gym, hours on the surface of any planet we stop at, lunging at each other with sharp weapons? And the stories," Morgan rolled her eyes, "no crew member need suffer from insomnia while Ghast is here to recite Klingon war epics."

"He's been no trouble. The change in Llant is obvious," Carey said, making the attempt to be fair and balanced. "He's still a cranky old Klingon, but no threat to us. Some of you were getting soft, anyway." Carey stared at Morgan as she made the observation. "He's been good for the entire crew -- better for some -- but you've all benefited from the conditioning his training provides."

"I hope you're right," Morgan was unconvinced. "I see no charms in warriors. As for gymnastics, give me a trio of Betazoid men any day! In fact, today would be good."

"The credit sheet looks healthy," Allallu interrupted. "Where's Llant? She wanted an immediate report on the last scans of the rock."

"She's on her way," Morgan said. "So, when _is_ the next time we're getting shore leave? I'm tired of these borderspace colonies."

"The borderspace colonies are responsible for our credit balance," Wolfe said pointedly. Morgan had the attention span of a Niflan fruit fly when she was horny.

"Sorry I'm late." Llant entered, took her seat. "Ghast had to finish a story. Allallu?"

Allallu touched her slate, and the wallscreen filled with views of Star Colony. "Our claim has been processed and registered under Rievan law. They have, in turn, filed a small notice with the Federation announcing the granting of a colony license in their space. They were eager to register anything else we wanted, since we paid so handsomely."

Llant laughed. "They may be the closest space traveling race, but fortunately they're still quite a distance from the colony. They seem a bit acquisitive. You have new data from the satellites?"

"Yes. Atmospheric oxygen content climbing. Plant life is responding to increased sunlight; although the storms pounded most of the vegetation into shreds, it's recovering vigorously. Takworthy wants to return soon to check on the introduced plantings," Allallu said.

"And the orbit?"

"Stable and clean," Morgan answered. "That rock's right where we wanted it to be."

"Then it's time to take the next steps," Llant said. "Sheila?"

"Shield generators. We could start living without respirators in approximately a year if we get them set up soon." Sheila emphasized her argument by pointing at a graphic on the screen. "Otherwise it's going to be more like eight."

"We have the credit to get started, but we're going to need more personnel. Wolfe, do you have security recommendations from that list of applicants?" Llant asked.

"I do." Wolfe felt a shiver of excitement travel around the table. They were building a baby planet. They were building a home. "Some good ones."

"Then let's head back toward civilization for a while. I have investments I'd like to check on personally. You can notify applicants there will be interviews at Lira."

"Lira?" Morgan was instantly happy. "We could be there in five days."

"Make reservations for the crew at the Taj. Top floor." Llant smiled at Morgan's enthusiasm.

"Going to deplete our entertainment credits?"

"Enjoy it while you can, Morgan. When we're done at Lira you won't get another break for a long time," Llant said.

"T'Prenda has been drafting the colony statement of organization and individual rights. I want to schedule a ship's forum for discussion on the draft after our new crew is hired." Wolfe saw import of her words register with the rest of her crewmates. The dream of a home was close to becoming reality.

Llant nodded. "Coordinate with T'Prenda."

"About those shield generators," Sheila said, then paused. "The last estimate I got was higher than we anticipated."

"You found an outlet in fringe space?" Llant asked.

"There's a new Terran trade bureau on Tellis. That's a planet worth watching. They'd be happy to bring them out for us, more than happy when I mentioned the number," Allallu said.

"We can only afford two now. Don't complain." Llant held up her hand at the sound of protest from Sheila. "That's a major portion of our budget, we're lucky to be able to afford two. Make the arrangements."

"Even with a deposit, and carefully applied incentive, it will be a while before Tellis can have the generators built and shipped," Allallu said.

"Take care of it. The timing should be right." Llant nodded approval. "We'll have the basic colony infrastructure roughed in by then."

"If we work hard," muttered Morgan, "in respirators."

"We're going to be working hard," Wolfe said, watching her captain stare with serene pleasure at the small brown pebble in their viewscreen. "In respirators."


	3. Chapter 3

**YEAR TWO AFTER WRIGLEY**

 _KORAX: WORK HARD, KEEP OUT OF TROUBLE_

“You have impressed me again.”

Moc sat behind Garat’s desk, rolling blood-quartz through his fingers. “Not only have you been on schedule for each cycle, but the grade of ore has steadily improved.” He tapped his computer slate. “I see you had Garat amend the military procedures governing the men’s pay scale to include bonuses. It is marginally legal, but dangerous.”

“Everything is recorded,” Korax sat at ease on the other side of the desk. “Not only is no one stealing from command, but command has greatly benefited from the men’s increased motivation and attention to duty. Bonuses are assigned credit based on semiprecious rock, and as you see, every bonus is recorded in Garat’s journal, tithes are paid to the empire. We've been able to locate and mine some richer veins of rock. Not only has the grade of ore improved, but the quantity of precious minerals has risen as well.”

“I have reviewed the numbers,” Moc stirred the gems with one finger. “Garat has been ill.”

“His lungs are not good.”

“And excessive blood wine consumption doesn’t help bad lungs.” Moc stood, wrapped up the gems, slipped them into a pocket. “I was able to requisition a replicator for you, a small one. I’ll send it to the Frar.” He fixed Korax with a stare. “I tried to investigate your past. I like to know who I deal with. It was unaccountably difficult to find out who you were before your honor-amend documents were registered on Fleissa. I do know the parties responsible for filing your paperwork, and they are in the elite. You must have rich and powerful family, or something even odder.”

“I have a new name and rank, and no family,” Korax said. “And as befits a warrior in my position, I work hard.”

Moc’s eyes were obsidian, unreadable. “Next trip I will bring my Grahar medic. It is pointless for you to remain deformed. You will never again serve in infiltration or intelligence.”

Korax grimaced. “They told us restoration would be unlikely, and even if available the procedure would be unpleasant.”

“Grahar.” Moc spat. “It is good the council seldom lets their recommendations rule our actions. Foolish to mutilate warriors, and to what end?” His eyes lingered on the smooth skin above Korax’s eyes. “I have spoken to my medic about you. He believes that others have been restored. He is researching the subject with enthusiasm. You do not fear pain, I trust?”

Korax ignored the question. “I have dealt with my appearance. If restoration is offered, I accept. Either way, I am Klingon.”

Moc nodded abruptly. “Until next cycle. I have your supply requests. We’ll see.”

 

Korax found Krill in the bar, throwing his knife at a t’chak board.

“We’ve got the replicator. And the Ba’iel should be done with the engines by the time we have to go out again, so we should finally have the necessary power. You’re in for extra duty. I don’t want the Ba’iel working unsupervised, in case he should still harbor bad feelings about the generators.”

Krill shrugged, pulled his knife from the board and joined Korax at a table. “He won’t want to work long hours. Those Ba’iel don’t miss family time.”

“And your friend, have you spoken with him?”

“He's willing to be hired as a consultant for one trip. He said he’d teach us how to split it, but not how to find it.”

Korax nodded. “In time, we’ll figure that out, too.”

The bar was quiet, the floors wet as the last of the winter snow flooded the flat ground outside the door. Two warriors traded stories at the bar.

“Where's the rest of the crew? I thought they’d all be here.” Korax looked around at the empty tables.

“New house open on the edge of town. They went to check it out. Rumor has it there are females and a holoroom.”

“Professionals? I haven’t seen a female since I got here. I don’t even know what a Ba’iel female looks like.”

“They stay in the habits. The males don’t want them in public. Shall we go administer an official inspection?” Krill stood. “By the way, how is Garat? Lung sick again?”

“He’ll die soon.” Korax followed Krill out of the bar into the slush. “I wish we could keep him alive, he's the perfect commanding officer.”

“He’s tougher than you think, and always gets sick in winter. He may last a while longer.”

“Where’s this house?”

“How much credit have you got on you?” Krill led the way, patting his pockets.

“As much as I could wish to spend in such a place,” Korax said.

“You might be surprised. At least, some time in a holoroom would be pleasant. I’d like to see forest again. This dirty rock is so depressing.”

“Maybe later.” Korax was unconvinced.

“Females? You aren’t interested in what they may have to offer?” Krill shot him a sideways look.

Korax growled. “As you said, this is an official inspection. And no witticisms about operas.”

The house was the same rusty, dirty color as the rest of Agab, but a bright, lighted sign on the front wall identified it as a business establishment. In Klingon, Altassi and tradesign it said “HOLOROOM - DRUGS - BEVERAGES - FEMALES.”

Krill began chuckling as they passed the sign. “I have a feeling your warriors will like this place.”

 

“So you’ve decided to let the crew frequent the business?” Garat sat wrapped in folds of shalliwool. His chest gurgled when he breathed. Pungent steam surrounded him from a vaporizer the Ba’iel medic had placed near his chair.

Korax nodded. “You seem better, captain. Not ready to die yet. I appreciate that.”

Garat rasped a laugh. “Who would have believed I’d find an honest warrior in my command before I went to join the great battle?”

“Honest? Perhaps my honesty is relative.”

“Not so with mine. Most of my relatives are utter scoundrels, and very successful warriors. Back to the house, commander.”

“It contains a holoroom, which seems to be far the most popular feature. It's run by three females: a Klingon, Circian, and Altassi. They sell reasonably-priced liquid refreshment and an assortment of semilegal drugs.”

“Semilegal?”

“Legal on Altassi.”

“The drugs are forbidden, and as for the females?”

Korax grinned. “Mature. But they seem quiet and accommodating, and the crew have been visiting them.”

“You have discussed hygiene?”

“Yes. I’ve explained the behavior I expect. They comply.”

“Extraordinary. You’ve done a very good job. You are one of two warriors working toward honor-amend I have known who approached the task with a true warrior’s heart. You take the Frar out tomorrow? With a Ba’iel on board?”

“You have good ears, captain, even confined to your quarters. I’ve hired the Ba’iel as a consultant, to assist us in honing our mining techniques.”

Garat began to laugh in heaving gurgles. “Not a useless toy of Krill’s, then? The Ba’iel won’t like it if we change from trash miners to competitors for the good stuff.”

“The command can’t build machinery from blood-quartz, captain. We still need lots of the trash. And who are the Ba’iel to squawk at Klingons?”

“You have spirit, and Moc accepts you. You may not end your days as I have. A word about Moc,” Garat coughed, continued. “He has great intellect and drive. His definitions of _honor_ and _duty_ are lengthy, with many subsections and exceptions. He is not a simple warrior. I believe you may share this quality with him. But you aren't family, and he owes no debt of honor to you.”

“I understand. Work hard, keep out of trouble. I have little alternative, captain.”

 

 **YEAR THREE AFTER WRIGLEY**

 _KORAX: CAPTAIN-SECOND_

Moc found him in the tiny antechamber outside Garat’s office, where Korax worked when he was in port. He had been entering the Frar’s logs into the general record.

“I’m surprised to find you here. Why not take the big desk?”

“I didn’t want to be in your way when you got here,” Korax said with undisguised sarcasm. “I’ve nearly finished the log, you’ll be wanting it.”

“Come in.” Moc looked around the tidy office. “He hadn’t used it much for the last year anyway. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you to take it.”

“Garat's body is in stasis, ready to be returned to his home. He died before we got back in, so the Ba’iel took care of matters. We had a journey ceremony for him.”

“That was an honorable action. He was an old drunkard, but he was a Klingon captain, and his record in the days before his death is a good one, thanks to you.” Moc pulled a computer slate from his tunic, set it in the middle of the empty desk. “He left this for you.”

Korax picked up the slate, activated the readout. “Commander-second Kendal: promotion is granted to the rank of captain-second with appropriate compensation and honor.”

“He wanted you to take over here. I agreed with his assessment.” Moc sat down in Garat’s old chair, gestured to Korax to be seated. “You look more like a Klingon captain now. The medic said treatment was complete. He seemed quite intrigued by the process.”

“Perhaps he might administer it to himself,” Korax suggested with a growl.

Moc laughed. “I cannot argue with your appreciation of Grahar and their skills.” His face sobered. “Garat was my uncle. Now, I have other old uncles I could contrive to have posted here, but you seem a better choice.

“Since you’ve taken responsibility for the Frar there has been no loss of personnel. Ore quotas are on time, and fully met. Ore quality has steadily improved, along with an impressive amount of precious and semiprecious materials. Morale is excellent, and in spite of some friction with the Ba’iel you seem to have smoothed over your early run-in with them. You show abilities beyond this station, Captain -- Kendal.”

Korax’ attention sharpened, his muscles tensing for battle. He recognized the dangerous sound in Moc’s voice.

“My family is an old one, and relatively wealthy. We are not of the elite, but number council members and many of the elite as close friends and business partners. Captain of a warbird is a socially advantageous post. It carries grave responsibility, but little personal recompense. I prefer being captain of a freighter. I am also a member of the supply council for Fleissa sector, a somewhat more useful position. And while I prefer to work with family, I deviate from my normal inclinations in your case. Can we reach an understanding?”

Korax nodded. “I believe we can.”

“Good. Because an additional 25 men and another miner will be added to this station by the end of next cycle. I want you to train another crew. We’ll be moving this post, and I want two fully trained mining crews ready.”

“Moving the post. Where?”

“Somewhere near the denser portion of the Bergen,” Moc said.

“That’s pushing the edges of Klingon fringe space.” Korax looked closely at Moc, finding nothing specific he could blame for his sudden sense of anticipation.

Moc shrugged. “We’ll see in a year. We’ll either be at war with the humans, or have reached some understanding. Either way, I plan to supply ore to command.”

“I hope the new miner is in better shape than the Frar was.”

“She’ll be adequate. I have great faith in your abilities," Moc said. "You’ll need a first. You haven’t rank enough to grant position, but I have. Is there a warrior here you could recommend to serve as commander-second?”

“Krill is the only one with brains and drive enough. He would serve well in such a position.”

Moc frowned. “That may present a problem.”

“It's your loss if you pass him by. It's mostly through Krill's work and expertise we refitted the Frar.”

“I’ll see if I can slip it through. He still has enemies on Fleissa, but they have more interesting current events to hold their attention. The men will take orders from him?”

“They will.”

Moc nodded. “The new crew will begin arriving while you’re in the rock. They have orders to set up quarters and stay out of trouble. I see a new entertainment facility has been added to the town. You haven’t used the holoroom there? I’m told the females are very popular.”

“They help keep the men occupied. I watch the house, and the crew. We’ve had no problem.”

Moc stood, picked up the slate and walked to the door. “The men tell me you are not _don’hel_ , don't visit with females, drink in moderation, wager recklessly, but within your pocket. You are an industrious, honest warrior. In short, you are a mystery, Kendal.”

“Just doing my duty.” Korax smiled at him, thinking of razorfins. “Swift journey, captain.”

Moc bared his teeth. “Good mining, captain.”

 

Korax returned to crew quarters with the feeling reality had somehow shifted. Shaitan’s luck had not deserted him, it seemed. He found Krill, Arath and Lyn participating in an intense game of d'abo.

“And the word on our new post commander?” Krill put down his cards, and the noise around them ebbed to silence. “What did Moc have to say?”

“I’m captain-second, now. And you should get a promotion to commander-second.” Korax grinned. “They gave me the post.”

Krill was on his feet, shouting. Roars of approval echoed from the throats of the rest of the crew.

“Smart.” Arath saluted him. “That Moc knows his business.”

“This deserves celebration. Fortunately, we have another day of layover left. We can sleep tomorrow!” Krill cuffed Korax on the shoulder. “I say we visit the holoroom.”

Korax found himself surrounded by warriors, jostled into the bitter wind.

“Well done!” Krill shouted over the exuberance of the others. “I know my promotion must be due to your suggestion.”

“You’ve earned it.”

They passed the sign, crowded into the house’s refreshment parlor.

“I’ll get us a bottle of whiskey.” Krill elbowed his way to the front of the bar. “And register for holoroom time. Are you interested?”

“No, enjoy yourself.” Korax settled at a small table and watched the animated conversations between the crew.

“Here.” Krill returned with glasses and a dark bottle. “They’re selling the room by the hour tonight, I’m second on the list. So we have time to drink this together.” He filled their glasses, lifted his to Korax. “May you die in battle!”

“May you die in battle!” The cry echoed around them.

Korax leaned forward, pitched his voice so Krill could hear over the increasing noise. “He’s sending us another ship, and crew to train. They’re moving this post.”

Krill’s eyes brightened. “Politics on homeworld are changing. It would be interesting to know what motivates Moc. At least the odds are against finding another place as forsaken as Agab. I wonder if he plans on letting you assume responsibility for two miners?”

“Moc is unpredictable. We’ll see.” Korax watched the approach of the Klingon female who co-owned the business with her Altassi and Circian partners. “Krill. I may need help.”

Krill snorted into his whiskey. “You're on your own.”

“Warrior.” She towered over the table and leaned toward Korax, breasts bulging over her breastplates. She had grey bands, but her face was pleasant and she seemed fit. “Your men say you have something to celebrate tonight. My partners and I know you are the reason the warriors are allowed to come here, and behave with appropriate respect for property. As token of our regard, and to mark your achievement, I would offer you my company. Not as a business transaction, but an expression of our appreciation.”

Korax took a deep breath, kicked Krill under the table. “Show respect,” he growled. He stood, stepped around the table and grabbed a fistful of her hair. He yanked her head back and inspected her face.

She growled, fastening her nails in his arm with increasing pressure.

“You tempt me.” He examined her leisurely. “The offer is handsome, as you are. But I have an oath-mate, and am still discharging honor-amend. I must reluctantly refuse your offer.”

She growled again, obviously disappointed.

“There is an old warrior here who has particularly admired you. It would bring me honor, and him pleasure, if I could arrange for you to share your time with him instead.”

“Perhaps. Which old warrior?”

“Arath. He wears an eye-patch. He is sturdy and respected by the younger warriors.”

“I know which one he is. You're sure you can't accept me?”

Korax released her hair, stepped back. “Regrettably, no.”

“Then congratulations, young captain.”

Krill watched her cross the room toward Arath. “You never stop amazing me. That was the mildest response from a rejected female I have ever witnessed. I hope Arath appreciates the gesture.”

“I don’t think he minds.” Korax nodded toward the door. Arath was being towed toward the door.

Krill lounged back against the wall, at ease. He studied Korax over the rim of his glass. “Is there no way you can contact her?”

Korax exhaled explosively, stared at the whiskey bottle. “No. I don’t know how to find her. And I’m not in a position to discreetly discover the whereabouts of such a notorious ship.”

“You’ve advanced rapidly, and worked hard. You’re damn close to honor-amend. She’s human, why would she care anyway? Perhaps we could think of a way to find her.”

“She knows where I am.” Korax swallowed a large mouthful of whiskey. “I didn’t want to admit this, even to myself. I told her not to come back, but she’s not a female who follows the orders of others. So why did she choose to take my words solemnly? She was unaware what the oath meant, and I rejected her with great finality when we parted. She has left that moment of her life in the past, moved on.”

“You should do the same.” Krill gestured at the warriors who crowded the room. “You’re alive and there is more to life than work. I can tell when you’re thinking about her, when we’re out in the rock. Living in memory is dangerous -- doubly so when on the cursed Frar.”

“The voices still rise at odd times, of those who questioned me under the sifter. I suppose the fact she hasn’t returned gives them strength.” Korax emptied the bottle into their glasses. “Tonight I am so close to achieving the impossible. I didn’t think to retire honor-amend in my lifetime. Yet even if I could face her with my rank regained, I would have no more to offer her.”

“Losing a mate is difficult. Death at least brings a certain finality. Until you divorce her, or face her, you will have no resolution.”

“Have you found that? Resolution? Or do you still miss your mate?” Korax asked.

Krill shrugged. “I killed those responsible for his death, all save one. It was not as satisfying as I hoped it would be, but it helps when I think of him.”

“The Altassi female is signaling. I think it’s your turn at the holoroom.” Korax stood. The turn the discussion had taken had gone to a place he had avoided for some time. “I’m going to get some sleep. Enjoy yourself.”


	4. Chapter 4

**YEAR THREE AFTER WRIGLEY**

 _GORNU: XANADU_

 _Captain's log: Fringe space, past the boundary of Federation territory. Destination, the white dwarf Aill'Biat and its cavernous planetoid, Xanadu._

"It was blackmail." Wolfe's words contained an unvoiced question. "Blackmail and coercion."

"We were employed." Llant looked up from a seemingly endless report from Sheila. She had known Wolfe would insist on discussing the details of their unusual contract with the Feds, just as Wolfe would know her Captain would evade discussion of her interview with the Federation's commissioner of licensing.

"You are unusually stoic, _na chauni_." Morgan hung nearby, cradled in a freeform H'russ extension. She was reviewing recent Federation news transmissions. "Everyone on the bridge heard Dali-Bane threaten revocation of your shipmaster's license, as if you feared such a thing." She winked one wine-colored eye at Wolfe, who rolled her eyes.

"Dali-Bane is a cantankerous bureaucrat. I took this job because Tellis needed us, and they're civilized people." Llant finished the report with a sigh. "In point of fact, we should realize a good profit."

"But it goes against nature to work for the Feds."

"Yes." Llant glared at Morgan. "Would you like me to excuse you from the bridge so you can put in a little gym time with Ghast? He says you've been skipping workouts."

Takworthy broke the short silence. "Captain, transmission coming in from unknown source."

Llant swivelled toward her officer. "Unknown? Cloaked?"

"Only hard to pinpoint. It must be a sentinel ship, yacht-sized, almost out of sensor range. Hanging just outside the system, masked by emissions from the dwarf." Wolfe transferred the information on her panel to wallscreen. "Star can't tell much more from this distance, so neither can they."

Llant's fingers sank into the material of her command chair as she interfaced directly with Star. _What can you show me?_

Their view of space disappeared as an alien countenance filled the wall screen. "Request: identification, purpose: destination."

Llant felt Star's interest stir against her mind. A white-downed Arcanii. _Unexpected. Can it be the White Death?_

"Takka'aq Dorg: Captain Llant'Gornu, bound to Xanadu for trade."

"Welcome to Xanadu, Gem Gornu. It has been many cycles since we spoke." The universal translator sang the words in a bass monotone.

"You honor me with greeting. Do the children flourish, White Death?"

The blind, inhuman face nodded imperceptibly, a mimicked gesture. "The children flourish, Gem."

The screen faded back to stars.

"White Death? The Arcanii Rover Commander the Feds put out of business?" Wolfe asked with wonder. "You know the damndest people, Llant."

"Yes. I had no idea White Death had taken private employment. Perhaps we'll benefit from this excursion in ways Dali-Bane will not approve. I've let this part of the universe go unexplored for too long."

"Exactly why are we here? Don't make me ask you again," Wolfe demanded.

"I was angry when we left." Llant admitted. _Shipwide com, please._ She sent the request to Star, then withdrew her fingers from the chair, breaking the interface.

"In less than an hour we will reach the planetoid Xanadu. Since Morgan has already been discussing company business, you all the know the Federation and Telli government arranged this trip for us. Our instructions are deceptively simple: locate and retrieve Federation and Telli operatives. They disappeared last month, ostensibly engaged in a trade mission. The Fed is human, male; the Telli is also male. Tellis government thought their representative reached Xanadu, but aren't sure." Llant paused, frowning as she considered the information she had reviewed with Star.

"Star has the old data on Xanadu's history, please read her file. I'll keep you updated when I can. An Arcanii commander guards Xanadu, and we'll be on alert status while we're here."

Llant touched the com to cancel the shipwide connection, then stood and inspected her bridge. "Morgan, Wolfe -- you two to the briefing room. Star, tell Glo, Poppy and Ghast to report there also. Call Kern and Allallu to the bridge."

Morgan and Wolfe followed Llant into the lift.

"There's more you didn't tell the entire crew," Wolfe said.

Llant nodded. "It's speculation, Wolfe. And intuition."

"It's White Death's presence."

"Yes." Llant confirmed Wolfe's guess. "But wait until the others are with us."

 

Llant faced her crewmembers around the conference room table.

"I hadn't heard that Traders were hiring outsiders. Yet a notorious Arcanii seems to be in charge of one of their sentinel ships. The fact is interesting, and disturbing."

"What disturbs you most?" Ghast asked.

"The Federation's covert interest in Xanadu," Llant said. "While Tellis is a growing commercial center on the edge of Federation space, and I have no doubt their missing person is a trade rep, the human will be a Federation operative."

"What is the Federation interest here?" Glo asked. "You were on Xanadu, once."

"You were on Xanadu?" Morgan sat back, chewing her lip. "Share, captain."

"The short file, then. The Xanadi are sophisticated and clever, with perhaps a millennium of trading behind them. They are a small, closely bonded guild community with secrets and capabilities that have never been exposed to outsiders."

"Xanadu is not in Federation space," Ghast said. "I believe the Fleet has a noninterference order in regard to the area."

"Yes." Llant nodded. "Xanadu Trader Guild deals mainly in space the Federation has not mapped or explored. Initial contact with Xanadu by Federation ships resulted in the noninterference directive. On the unofficial side of the coin, although Saar Syndicate was ruthlessly snubbed and a couple of the larger nongovernmental commercial organizations were rudely told to stick to their own space, individual prospector/traders and smugglers have not been unwelcome at Xanadu. Surprisingly little information about Traders filters back through these sources."

Llant looked around the table. "All of you will beam down with me. I want all of you to _return_ with me. Watch each other's backs. Don't go off alone, don't eat, drink or sleep below unless absolutely necessary. Even if you see me doing something, don't assume it's safe or correct. If we are separated, don't assume the identity of your crewmates when you meet again. Xanadu has some traffic with sylphic shifters, and I've heard rumors of trade with Vandoriians."

"Vandoriians?" Glo's eyes fired with speculation as she absorbed the information. It had been years since she had seen another of her own species.

"There are a few precautions we can take," Llant continued. "Carey will imbed a crystal in each of us. It's unlikely that anything impersonating one of us will understand huntsign, so use it for comment or emergency communication." Llant felt the rush of adrenalin race through her blood.

Ghast leaned forward, catching her excitement.

"We _will_ be going planetside to trade. We'll keep our ears and eyes open, but delicate questions will be limited."

"Captain?" Takworthy's voice came from the speaker console.

"Yes?"

"Incoming message from Wherever."

"Wherever?" Llant saw her surprise echo around the table. "On wallscreen."

The round, youngish face of a man framed by a mass of thick, auburn hair filled the screen. "Ormand D'Lanival, Secretary to the Wherever General Assembly sends Gem Gornu greetings, best wishes and condolences. The Feds have lost five agents and two yachts on a recent endeavor. Please be advised that the taxes on your residence have been increased. I hope to dance with you at the next President's Ball, Gem." The image faded to a gaudy representation of the Wherever seal.

"Spirit of Space take me for a fool." Llant slapped her palm on the table, shaking her head. "If Wherever knows what we're doing, so do a lot of other people. Well, at least our chances of finding a Fed operative have been increased. There seem to be enough of them lost in the area," she said. "Morgan, Glo and Ghast; I selected you three primarily because you are obviously nonhuman."

Ghast stared at Llant, then at Glo's womanform. "She's obviously nonhuman?"

"Cap --" Morgan began, frowning and shaking her head.

Llant ignored Morgan's protest, and Wolfe's fierce glare. "I trust him with my life. We'd share this knowledge sooner or later. She's Vandoriian."

"Sa! Shapeshifter!" Ghast frowned. "What other surprises await me?"

"We'll save something, I promise."

"What obviously nonhuman form am I to take, child?" Glo asked calmly.

"I want something impressive, dangerous. Remember those primitives, the Djellan berserkers?"

Glo nodded. "Unsubtle." She stood. The slim lines of the gentle, brown-eyed womanform dissolved before them, elevating and redistributing mass. "How is this?"

The flutelike voice still belonged to Glo, but it came from a creature one-and-a-half meters tall with a dust-colored bone exoskeleton. Knife-edged bone protrubances lined the back of its ridged forehead and continued down the length of its back. It was a wicked looking conglomeration of sharp edges and complex joints.

"Exactly what I wanted. You have a remarkable memory, old one."

Glo made a rude noise that Llant recognized as one from Morgan's repertoire.

"She'll give us a psychological edge," Poppy said. "Most sane creatures would give some thought to attacking that."

"I would like to fight such a beast." Ghast examined Glo's new body appreciatively. "Can you mimic more than shape?"

"Ghast, predictability can be a dangerous trait," Llant said. "Poppy, light arms were permitted below, see to it. No ship's fatigues. Uniforms bother the Xanadi. Dress like freetraders. Be in the transporter room in thirty minutes."

 

"I'm ready."

Llant finished fastening her utility belt as the door com relayed Ghast's voice. "Come."

"You believe we will be fighting?" Ghast stepped into her living room. He wore black battle gear that emphasized his already considerable mean, utilitarian presence.

The hope in his voice made her laugh. "Yes. It's probable."

"Good." Ghast followed her into the corridor, toward the lift. "A diversion would be welcome."

"Getting bored?" Llant saw the skin under his eyes crease into hundreds of additional wrinkles as he bared his teeth in an evil smile.

"Since pounding Morgan to bloody pulp has been forbidden, another outlet for my frustrations would be welcome."

Llant's first impression of the group waiting for her in the transporter room was of a toxic butterfly flanked by a pair of Saar Syndicate enforcers.

Morgan wore exotically patterned layers that concealed the fact she was carrying a number of weapons and useful devices. Poppy wore battle black, conceding to her captain's request for informality by adding some silver jewelry that wouldn't interfere with close quarters combat. Glo sat on the transporter pad with her spiny back against the wall, clicking her nails against the floor.

"I'm going to have to find you some red leather," Morgan teased Ghast as she stepped up to stand in front of Glo. "What do your people have against color?"

"This propensity for fastening on superficial questions at inappropriate moments -- is so human." Ghast frowned as he evaluated Morgan's costume. "We wear red at weddings."

"You haven't told us any stories about formal Klingon weddings," Morgan said with a smirk. "Do the festivities include singing songs and killing things?"

"Yes," Ghast said, stepping onto the pad. "I will sing you a wedding chant the next time you show up for training."

Llant took her place on the pad, with Poppy behind her. She blinked as the ship disappeared, then stood still for several seconds as her eyes cleared and registered their surroundings. They had materialized just inside the mouth of a cavern.

"These caverns are shielded, no matter transmission possible except at a surface entrance," Morgan observed as they strained to breathe the thin air.

"You are Llant'Gornu and party?"

Llant stared at the barely perceptible energy barrier, and answered the disembodied voice. "I am, we are."

"Welcome to Xanadu," the voice purred. The barrier disappeared.

"I am Bastian." Ocelot eyes regarded the group. "I will be your guide, monitor and liaison."

Llant made the second-degree Bendali bow of greeting as a sleekly furred felinoid stepped from behind an instrument panel. "You do us honor, Ser Bastian."

Bastian returned the bow, then fell into a dancing pace beside her. "Thank you, captain. May I compliment you on your knowledge of my customs. That was a lovely gesture of amicable greeting between strangers. One misses the etiquette when one is far from home."

"If one's home is Bendali, one must surely miss far more than the etiquette," Llant said.

Bastian made a noise in his throat and unfolded the delicate ears that had been laying tight against his skull. His long tail snapped the air behind him. "It will be a pleasure to work with an obviously sophisticated being. Civilized and appreciative life forms are rare, treasured encounters."

"Our immediate needs are a suite, and information on trade opportunity. Also, an introduction to the Alcohol Liquors Guildsholder would be most appreciated."

Bastian nodded, an oddly slanted gesture that swept his wiry whiskers into a rakish wave. "I have already reserved rooms for you. Shall we go to Bazaar? I will begin my service with that introduction you desire."

Caverns and tunnels fanned out before them in all directions. Light panels in walls and ceilings provided illumination inside the sunless world. Little of the cavern's original nature was still apparent; mosaic tiling, hanging gardens and elaborate textile decorations turned once bare rock into an attractive underground city. Air moved around them, fresh and mostly unscented.

Bastian nodded to many of the figures they passed seated in doorways, but exchanged no conversation in spite of shouted bids for attention.

Llant and her companions were also silent, inspecting their surroundings with keen attention. The floor of the hall had been slanting downward since they left the entrance, and the ceiling slowly disappeared overhead into dim height.

"Bazaar." Bastian gestured through an enormous arched portal, carved from the planetoid into a wreath of alien shapes.

"Oh! It's enormous!" Morgan's gasp of delight and astonishment was understandable.

Stone terraces rose into the air until the highest terrace was barely visible from the floor. Countless symmetrically-mouthed caves opened onto each terrace, each housing a trading establishment.

"Bazaar is the core of Xanadu," Bastian said. "The Alcohol Liquors guild office is on Tier 7, three Tiers up. Although you may not immediately perceive it, I believe the oxygen content of our interior biosphere is slightly less than you are accustomed to. We will try walking between Tiers, although vehicles can be provided if you wish."

"We'll take it slowly. Xanadu's gravity is also less than we're accustomed to, that should help offset other differences." Llant began to climb beside Bastian. "Who is the Trader?"

Bastian slanted a look at her, an almost sly gesture, and wrinkled his nose. "The name is Veriand, a guildsholder, but no Trader."

"There weren't many outsiders last time I visited Xanadu." Llant's observation just missed being a question.

Bastian waved his whiskers again. They reached Tier 7 and turned from the stairs to follow the wide, busy walk that passed before the shop's hewn mouths. Many of the entrances were unobstructed, and it was possible to view merchandise from the walk; others had metal doors or cloth hangings.

"Here." The shop had a metal door of a rich bronze color, etched with a stylized design of twining vegetation. Bastian opened the door and stood back to let them precede him.

The shop's interior had soft, indirect lighting. A counter ran the length of the cave along the right wall. Darkly polished walls gleamed behind the stacks of shelves and racks holding an exotic assortment of glass, metal and permelas containers filled with jewel-colored liquids. Llant sniffed the air. She could smell the faint, rich, odor of yeast.

"I'm getting thirsty," Morgan said. "I smell ale."

"Please be comfortable. Veriand should be here in a moment." Bastian selected a tall backless stool near the counter and sat, curling his tail around its legs.

Llant perched on one of the high bar stools, and Morgan followed her example. Glo squatted down behind her Captain's seat. Ghast stood near Poppy, examining a rack of bottles.

"Gem Gornu, welcome to Xanadu."

Llant slid off her stool and turned toward the voice that came from the rear of the shop. Thick, knee-length black hair, apricot-colored skin, golden eyes, and the tiny black tattoo on the woman's cheekbone confirmed Llant's hasty identification.

Extending her hand, Llant was amused to realize she had felt compelled to offer this seldom used gesture. "Veriand? No wonder Wherever knows more about Xanadu than the Fleet does. My officers, Morgan and Poppy, and my weapons master, Ghast." She didn't introduce Glo, but saw Veriand's eyes touch her remaining companion with amused respect.

"I was born on Volta, but my father was a Wherever pirate. I believe you've met him. Lagos Antry?" Veriand accepted the traditional handshake, then moved her fingers to tap against Llant's wrist.

"I didn't know Lagos had a daughter." Llant was translating the old pirate hand code as she spoke.

 _You're being monitored._

Llant's response was automatic as her thumb touched Veriand's wrist. _No surprise. Thank you._ She let Veriand's hand drop, then took a step backward and studied her face. "I see the resemblance."

Veriand laughed. "He's told me about you. Said you could have been my mother."

Poppy and Morgan swivelled to stare at their captain.

"I don't normally protest areas related to my age, but you had to be born long before I met Lagos." Llant said. "Does Lagos still guard Wherever's state secrets like he did his own?"

"You can ask him the next time you visit your home on Wherever. And I was referring to the companionship contract he offered you. He thought I would benefit from a strong female role model," Veriand said. "You'll understand I wasn't interested in meeting you back them. But it's a pleasure to meet you now. Why so far out to Xanadu? And in such mixed company?"

"Curiosity. Business opportunities." Llant looked around the shop. "Did you inherit part of your father's wine cellar?"

"I did."

"Should we talk business now, or shall I make an appointment?" Llant asked, knowing Veriand would have some way to ensure a private conversation when the time came.

"You've just arrived. Take some time to look around." Veriand walked around behind the counter. "There's a lot to look at before you start dealing." She pulled five tall, fluted wine glasses from under the bar.

"First we'll have a drink together, then Bastian can finish your tour." Veriand opened a bottle-safe with her palm print, and selected a bottle. She extracted the cork with professional ease and poured a sparkling green wine into the glasses.

Llant picked up the cork and examined it, surprised. "This is a bottle from the stasis-cache your father found."

"It is, and excellent wine."

"You welcome us indeed," Llant said, dryly. She could remember Lagos gloating over his bottles, reluctant to disturb any of them. Opening and drinking the contents had been out of the question

Veriand grinned, toasted the group and tasted her wine, ignoring their hesitation to drink. "Once they're no longer in stasis, they age. I'm not an antique collector, like Lagos. I always thought it was stupid not to sample the goods."

Llant raised her glass, letting the wine touch her tongue and bubbles tickle the back of her throat. "Thank you."

"When you come back to do business I have a couple of bottles for you, captain. From Lagos. With daughterly propriety I've saved them, hoping some day we would meet."

Llant finished her wine. "Perhaps we'll have time to sit and talk about your father. Other than the fact he's now prime minister of Wherever, I've heard little about him in recent years. Wherever keeps their own privacy with greater success than the rest of the Federation."

Veriand smiled. "A national pastime. Lagos will be pleased you are still interested in his welfare."

"We were friends, the last time I spoke with him. It was the rest of his family -"

"They've nearly gotten over it." Veriand's face was bright with amused memory. "Although when Uncle Artro gets drunk at holiday celebrations, he still pisses and moans about the H'russ. But you can't keep calling the prime minister of your planet an _incompetent, love-stricken guppy._ "

Llant made a movement of denial, laughing at her own memories of Uncle Artro.

"I know the story, Lagos told me," Veriand waved away her protest. "He told me a lot of things about you. Based on this knowledge I say -- it's good you have come to Xanadu, Llant'Gornu."

 

Away and up from Tier 7, Bastian led them through Bazaar's symmetrical wonderland.

In Llant's estimation, many things had changed. Most surprising was the lack of Traders. Bazaar seemed to be a conglomeration of aliens recognizable as natives of the Federation and Federation fringe space. The lone Trader Llant caught a fleeting glance of seemed to be overseeing and directing those previously considered outsiders.

Merchandise seemed to be ordinary, everyday goods. Contraband and prohibited items from Federation space were also prominent.

"That was the short tour," Bastian said as they returned to the level where they had first entered. "You can check the merchant directory in your suite for further information. Shall I take you there now?"

"Let's sit down for a few minutes." Llant pointed at a group of nearby stone benches.

Bastian leaned against the wall behind the benches. Glo hunkered near, watching him as he began to groom his arms, catlike.

"I'd never pay that much for stemware." Poppy continued an argument she and Morgan had started two levels previously. "Even if it was real star crystal, which it wasn't."

Llant listened tolerantly, her eyes roving over the enormous scope of Bazaar.

" _Thari._ " Ghast nudged his arm against hers. "By the entrance."

A line of standardform bipeds, flanked by two non-standardform guards, trooped across the tier. They disappeared into an oversized cavern opening mounted with substantial metal doors. Each member of the procession wore wrist cuffs and a force collar, where the telltale light of a motion inhibitor sparked as they trudged past.

Llant turned to looked at Bastian. "Criminals?"

Bastian's ocelot eyes blinked several times, and his ears flared into full circles. "Some may be." His tongue flicked up and groomed a whisker. After a pause he added, "They go to auction."

"Auction?" Morgan asked. "That group appeared to be sentients!"

"I didn't know Traders were slavers," Llant said, careful to let no emotion show in her voice.

"They are not." Bastian's voice was similarly uninflected. "That concession is owned by Harruqq the n'Flzz." Bastian seemed to add an extra spit and snarl to his pronunciation of the name. "From Trader fringe space. A very rich being."

"I know of Harruqq." Llant found herself thinking of rotten things in a hot sun. "May I attend an auction?"

Bastian nodded gracefully. His ears disappeared, flattened against his skull. "There is still a Trader banker in Bazaar. I will call him for you."

"Thank you. My ship will provide the necessary references and deposit." Llant bowed, the fifth-degree Bendali gesture indicating greeting to unknown, possible hostile strangers.

Bastian's lips curled back in a pointed-tooth grin. "Let me show you where your suite is located."

"Thank you." Llant followed him away from Bazaar, Ghast at her side, with Morgan, Poppy and Glo close behind.

The suite was comfortable, if rather neutrally decorated. Silver-brown colors dominated. The chairs and couches were uni-form, equally uncomfortable for any species.

Llant touched her com. "Wolfe?"

There was a delay, then, "Wolfe here. Star had to adjust for a clear channel. You're under a lot of rock, and some heavy-duty screens."

"They will call for banking information. You can deposit latinum with them," Llant said.

"Ayiah. All's well?"

"I'm sorry you're missing it. I just met Lagos Antry's daughter, in her capacity as Liquor Guildsholder."

"Antry has a daughter? Did you know?"

"No. She must be the only member of his family I didn't meet, and maybe the only one I might like." Llant ended the transmission.

Ghast sprawled on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Listening, thinking. He signaled a question with his fingers.

Llant nodded. She had no doubt they were being watched.

"I saw tradesign above advertising primitive metal weapons," Ghast rumbled. "It was near the Liquor Guild. You could use a proper knife."

"We'll go back there later."

The door chimed, and Bastian entered.

"Which auction will be of more interest to you; standardform bi-and-multipedal, or non-standardform? Or both?" Bastian was less restless than when he had left them. His ears were back in full display.

"Standardform, primarily."

"We should leave at once. And if you desire, the non-standardform auction follows." He bowed to the fourth-degree, and led them out of the suite. "Banking arrangements have been completed."

"Thank you, Ser Bastian." Llant wrinkled her lips and nose, held her hands in a Bendali gesture of appreciation. Fourth-degree indicated greeting between business rivals. "The last time I visited Xanadu they did not have such efficient hosts."

"I am fortunate to hold this position." A barely audible noise accompanied the observation, a vibrating purr. "My patron is one of the few Traders who remain."

It had quieted along Bazaar's lower terraces, fewer strollers lingered on the broad tier walkways. Cooking odors fought the ventilation system and won. Congenial activity from nearby lounges created a low babble of background sound.

"Sub-auditorium three." Bastian indicated a door guarded by two reptilian n'Flzz, armed and ugly. They moved aside as Bastian approached, their yellow-green eyes lingering on Glo.

The auditorium interior was designed in semicircles narrowing downward to focus upon a dais at the far wall. Lighting was dim, the couches and chairs of the viewers almost in shadow, yet clear white light shone along the walls. An auditorium-sized vidscreen covered the wall directly in back of the dais. Llant saw an attendant hurry to greet Bastian with a few words, and give him a palm-sized object.

"You may want this."

Llant accepted the device, staring into his golden eyes. Bastian's simple remark had been singularly free from the throaty overtones natural to the Bendali voice.

"For bidding," he elaborated.

"My thanks." Llant began to examine the gathered crowd. "I see mostly non-stans. They purchase standardforms?"

"Yes." Bastian's tail lashed. He gestured at a couch against the wall. "Your seats."

Llant sat with Morgan and Ghast on either side. Glo squatted near the end of the couch, and Poppy stood beside Glo, lounging with her back against the wall.

"The officials begin." Bastian murmured. "Your arrival was timely. Auctions are held on an irregular schedule. This one was not announced until second-cycle today."

A single quadripedal standardform that looked like a hairless baboon was led onto the central dais by one of the n'Flzz guards. The vidscreen behind them magnified their images so the audience could see every detail of the pathetic spectacle.

"Your device will provide origin, gender, skills, other information. It will show how bidding progresses." Bastian stood at the other end of the couch, beyond Ghast, tail lashing against the rock wall.

The first three standardforms were male. The information on Llant's bidding device was vague about origin. The most frequent notation seemed to be: _healthy, strong, docile, good worker._

Morgan sniffed. "Poor things. I'd like to back some of those officials into a quiet corner."

"I agree." Ghast growled, a barely audible sound that momentarily blended with Bastian's purr.

Llant touched his arm in warning. "They may not look unusual, but bids have been substantial. Let's hope this indicates a shortage of victims."

"Llant."

Llant's eyes went to the side of the dais where the auctioneer, behind his complex sales panel, was announcing "something special."

Something special was 6'5", nicely muscled with long blond hair brushing his shoulder blades.

"Human stock or I'm a Vulcan. Look at those legs," Morgan whispered. "Look at that equipment."

The bidding started high and quickly ran higher.

"He's drugged, Llant." Poppy stared at the vidscreen. "His eyes."

"Blue eyes, I might have guessed. Why drug him, why sell him?" Llant's fingers moved on Morgan's arm. _It's essentially an act of war against the Federation._

Llant caught Poppy's eyes. _What are the odds he's **not** a Fed,_ her fingers tapped. She touched her bidding device.

A small, tentacled non-stan seated in the row below them squeaked as the price rose.

"Now six." Llant raised the bid again, then twice more before she registered a final, uncontested offer of 10 bars of latinum.

"Did you expect it to be this easy?" Ghast moved uncomfortably. "I don't like this place."

Llant's fingers moved against his hand. _They wanted me to find him. May or may not be Fed. Can't leave a human here. Now we find the Telli._

Llant stopped signing. Ghast had stiffened, his face contorted with a snarl as he heaved himself upright.

"Klingon. A warrior."

"Sit." Llant's voice was hard, flat. "Ghast!"

He stood for a long moment, muscles straining as he held himself in check. Then he sat, still growling as the vidscreen showed details.

Red welts covered the young Klingon's shoulders and back, only partially obscuring the scar on his shoulder cap. In spite of his obviously drugged condition, his hands had been cuffed behind his back.

Llant kept her fingers on Ghast's arm as the bidding started, and studied the vidscreen image.

He was approximately 6'6", with tightly muscled thighs, slim hips and a sturdy-wedge shaped torso. His genitals were contracted and fully shielded by his pelvic ridge, visual evidence that, although drugged, he was aware and held himself battle ready. Thick black hair had been tied back, and the inevitable mustache traced a full mouth. In the viewer overhead his eyes were brown, black lashed and huge with drugged effect.

Poppy whistled softly. "He can barely stand up. You have to buy him. We can't leave him, Llant."

"I seem to recall --" Llant broke off. Ghast knew nothing of this part of her past.

"He is Shahan." Ghast became more agitated with each second that passed. "I need to kill someone."

"Captain. Wolfe will have a seizure," Morgan predicted, without real protest in her voice.

"We won't leave him here. All of you, quiet."

The bidding was still in a moderate range and slowing when Llant bid. After a short battle, she registered the final offer of 8 latinum bars.

"We'll let the Federation pay for his rescue." Llant grinned at Ghast. "An appropriate business expense, wouldn't you agree?"

Ghast erupted to his feet, glowering down at the assembled bidders. "We go. Now."

"Poppy. Take Ghast and pay for our purchases. We'll view the rest of the auction in case there are any more surprises." She watched them go, then turned to Bastian. "You know how my people feel about this practice of buying and selling sentients."

"There are many others who are flexible on the subject." Bastian purred, his tail finally stilled. "There are no more standardforms. Do you wish to remain for the next auction?"

Llant scrolled through the short listings for the non-standardform auction. "No. We have other business to transact."

Bastian made humming-growling noises deep in his throat as he escorted them out of the auditorium. Llant saw his small ears flicker upright. He met her look with a limpid, golden-eyed expression and wrinkled his nose and lips at her. A Bendali smile showed off powerful canines, a predator's greeting.

She had done what he wanted her to do, Llant thought. "One moment, Ser Bastian." Llant took a step away and touched her stud. "Star."

"Takworthy here."

"All calm?"

"Aye." Wolfe's voice answered. "How's the shopping?"

"Unusual." Poppy and Ghast came towards them leading the two men in collars and cuffs. "We're coming back up. I'll contact you at the entrance in a few minutes."

"Our suite is reserved for an indefinite period?" Llant asked.

Bastian nodded. "You may come and go as you wish. Shall I escort you to the entrance?"

"Thank you." Llant walked beside him. "Your patron, what concession does he hold?"

Bastian purred. "Artifacts," he answered finally. "But he has recently passed the concession to another."


	5. Chapter 5

_GORNU: SHAHAN_

"This one's Terran, all right. Almost classic readings. Very drugged," Carey said. "You took the hardware off the Klingon, why is the human still cuffed?" She turned away from her analysis of the human's med display to run an eye over the Klingon's readings.

The Klingon was on the next bed, stretched out on his stomach. Poppy sat beside him, cleaning his back and applying a topical anesthetic. Ghast paced around the bed, watching her every move.

"Can you counteract the drug?" Llant forced herself to look away from the young Klingon toward the human.

Carey shrugged. "T'Prenda and Star are looking at it, but this is one we've never seen. We may have to wait it out."

"The same with the Klingon?"

"Different drug, same story. With the little I know of Klingon physiology and biochemistry, well, hopefully his system will deal with it naturally in the next few hours."

Llant gave up trying to ignore Poppy's patient, and turned to examine his back. It was crossed with swollen lash marks. "He was beaten at least two separate times, the last was fairly recent."

Carey nodded. "I do know enough about Klingons to tell you he hasn't eaten in several days. They had to feed him intravenously before they drugged him for sale, or he wouldn't have been able to stand up. As it is I'm surprised he pulled it off."

"Warrior, special classification, but not _Shahar_?" Llant studied the scar on his bare shoulder cap, finding it difficult not to touch the mark. She looked at Ghast. "As odd to find him for sale as it was to find the Terran."

Ghast growled.

Llant took another look at the human. "He looks familiar. Call me when either of them wakes. I'm going to get something to eat. Ghast, come with me." She paused at the med bay door. "And Carey, get them into coveralls."

 

"What can you tell me about him?" Seated next to Ghast at the bar in her quarters, Llant blew on a steaming cup of tea and waited for Ghast to finish eating.

Ghast pushed his plate away. "I'm getting fat. This soft life can creep up on a warrior."

"Fat? You spend most of the day exercising, training the crew. When you're not training them, you're fighting with me. I suppose confrontation with a purpose is what you really miss. Real fighting."

"I am Klingon." Ghast's mahogany features stretched into an evil smile. "One of two aboard the Star, now. He is _Shahan. Shahan_ number far fewer than _Shahar._ I was surprised to see him there. But I'lll wait for him to tell you about it."

"You're withholding something." Llant poked her spoon in his direction. "I know you well enough, old warrior."

"Do you, _thari_? I wonder how well I know you, frequently."

Llant cleared away the remnants of their meal. "Will you wait here with me?"

"You wish to practice _ahar_?"

"I would fail at meditation right now," Llant smiled. "This time, I'll tell you a story. Have you ever wondered how I came to own this ship?"

Ghast folded his legs under him, sat in the middle of her living room. "Yes. It has something to do with the man whose daughter we met today?"

"Lagos Antry." Llant joined him on the floor. "Lagos was a Wherever pirate, in the days before Wherever joined the Federation. Today he is the prime minister of Wherever. I met him before I graduated from Star Fleet Academy . . ."

Ghast listened, eyes half-closed. When she finished they sat quietly.

"Llant." Carey's voice interrupted their easy silence. "We have life."

"On our way."

Ghast followed her to the lift. "Someday, when I know the rest of your life tale, I suspect my suspicions will be confirmed. Shaitan was present at your birth, and has never been far from your side since that moment."

"Med bay," Llant said to the lift. "I thought _Shaitan's Luck_ was just an expression. You seem to suggest a figure from Klingon mythology has more substance."

"Since the gods are dead, the forces of random chance are viewed superstitiously by many Klingons," Ghast said. "Shaitan personifies random chance. And Shaitan has treated you well."

"When you know all my life tale, your perception of me may alter."

The lift opened.

"They're both awake?" Llant surveyed med bay.

Carey looked up briefly from her scanner. "Yes. The Klingon's more lucid, though."

The Klingon was still laying on his stomach, but dressed in sick bay fatigues. His eyes were alert and focused as she approached.

"I am Captain Llant'Gornu, you're in Star's med bay." She sat down beside the bed so their eyes were on the same level. "I purchased you at the auction on Xanadu. How do you feel?"

He smiled at her, a flash of quick humor that increased his dark beauty, startling Llant with its apparent genuineness. "I feel very good. In fact, I had begun to imagine this a drug induced hallucination."

"Your back?"

"Is numb."

"May I ask how a Klingon warrior came to be sold as an unskilled standardform in an auction on Xanadu?" Llant saw darkness crawl into the back of his eyes as she asked the question.

"My own fault. I underestimated an opponent." He kept the anger in his face from touching his voice, making the words sound casual, matter-of-fact.

He was controlled for a Klingon. Moving slowly, Llant touched the place on his shoulder where the scar would be, under the coverall sleeve. He stiffened, but offered no objection to the gesture. "I wasn't familiar with the meaning of your scar. My weapons master says you are _Shahan._ "

"Weapons master?" Wariness and aggression brought his head around as far as it could go.

"I am Ghast." The old warrior stepped into the young one's field of vision.

The Klingon sat up stiffly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I am Commander Kion, lately of the IKS Shalook."

"Commander. Welcome. Your classification?"

"Special services. _Shahan._ " Kion looked between them, clearly at a loss. "Ghast. You are dead. What is this place?"

Llant moved away as Ghast answered.

"This is the starship Takka'aq Dorg. I'm not dead, Kahless saw fit to intervene in the last years of my life. I am weapons master on this ship. Can you tell me why a _Shahan_ was being sold like an animal?"

Kion stretched and stood stiffly, grimaced as his muscles refused to respond. "I inadvertently discovered my captain was stealing from the Empire, and instead of attempting to bribe or kill me, he made a small profit by selling me to Harruqq's slavers. How much did you pay for me?"

"Eight bars of latinum," Llant answered.

"That's a high price for a drugged, beaten Klingon." Once again he looked between them. "I'm still somewhat confused by the drugs they gave me. This might be another hallucination. Indeed, if what I know of the Takka'aq Dorg is correct, it could be nothing else."

"You're not hallucinating." Ghast's hand closed on Kion's shoulder.

"Captain." Carey called from the adjacent sickbay bed. "The human's awake enough to talk."

"Kion, we'll talk soon. Ghast can answer any other questions you may have." Llant walked around to stand beside Carey.

The fog had nearly disappeared from the man's blue eyes. He greeted her with a surly, suspicious expression. "Who are you, and where am I?"

"Captain Llant'Gornu. This is the med bay of the starship Takka'aq Dorg, currently on assignment for the Federation Security Council to investigate activity on Xanadu." She watched suspicion change to distrust and disdain.

"I was too." He rubbed his temples, frowning as he tried to concentrate.

"Not very successfully," Llant said. "Who are you?"

The man's jaw clenched. "Lt. Commander Daryl Nordstromm, special agent."

"Oh. Son of General Axel Nordstromm, ambassador to the UFP?"

"Yes." Nordstromm struggled to sit upright. His eyes narrowed as he looked beyond her toward Ghast. "I've heard of you too, Captain Gornu."

"I don't think you appreciate your narrow escape, Nordstromm." Llant ignored the innuendo in his remark. "If Morgan hadn't admired your . . . legs . . . you'd belong to a tentaloid nonstan. I'm going to overlook your implied ingratitude and let one of my officers interrogate you. I need all the information you can give me."

She touched Carey's com. "Morgan! Med bay. Our Terran guest is Lt. Com. Daryl Nordstromm. Start from his orders and bring events to this second."

"What about his collar? I took the cuffs off when I was testing him." Carey inspected Nordstromm critically.

"Let Morgan decide. He doesn't seem eager to cooperate." Llant shrugged at the Klingon, who had watched the conversation with interest.

Carey followed her glance. "He needs solid food, Llant."

"Ghast?" Llant nodded at him.

"Ayiah, _thari_. I will provide food."

Kion moved slowly, experimentally. "I'm hungry," he admitted.

Ghast stepped forward to steady him with a massive hand. "My quarters are close."

Med bay doors opened, and Morgan stepped through.

Llant watched the Klingons leave, then walked away from the still sputtering Nordstromm. "When you have something to report, Morgan, I'll be in my sitting room."

 

 _GHAST: DIFFERENCE BETWEEN LEGEND AND REALITY_

Ghast watched the young warrior eat a moderate meal slowly, although he seemed hungry.

"I haven't told her what _Shahan_ is. I leave it to you to judge the extent of your explanation."

"You live on this ship? You are -- crew?" Kion's voice remained carefully neutral.

"Yes. I am blood-pledged to her." Ghast had seen the moment in med bay when the youngster assumed full _Shahan_ awareness. He wondered how long Kion would maintain it in his presence.

"But you're dead." Kion swallowed a final piece of food. "She is _sheld'kaj_ , yet you call her _thari_. The Ghast whose reputation is known throughout the empire --"

"Kahless had a strange destiny for me. As it seems he has for you."

"If you mean I am dead also, this is true." Kion took a long drink, then sighed. "My captain and the unmentionable n'Flzz have laid waste upon any chance I had to die gloriously in battle."

"You still breathe, warrior!" Ghast saw the more normal response of anger twitch across Kion's brow ridges. Good, the boy was tired, and letting his focus slip.

"The conversation you overheard in med bay, did it mean anything to you?"

Kion examined his surroundings. "I know what this ship is. I am, after all, Klingon, and Captain Llant'Gornu and the Takka'aq Dorg are the basis of contemporary Klingon legends. Her behavior and demeanor are unexpected. Your presence is unexplainable."

"Stranger things has space seen."

"Like Llant'Gornu in the flesh. She is so small." Kion's eyes fixed on Ghast's with an unspoken demand. "But the authority she projects is extraordinary. I sense nothing else when I look at her. Intense, focused will. And there is a sensation of presence. I had to stop my attempt to examine her as _Shahan_. It disoriented me to touch her."

"The H'russ." Ghast nodded. "I suspect you felt the ship through her. They are linked in some way I don't understand."

Kion's eyes slid over the walls of Ghast's quarters. "Interesting. And when her eyes touch you, or me, no hostility. Indeed, the secondary impression I registered was her concern. And when you stand together, and she addresses you, it is with the familiarity of blood to blood." Kion shook his head. "But I have been drugged. These impressions are suspect."

Ghast nodded. "Your impressions are valid. Humans are such a confusing mixture of strength and weakness. And these females, more surprising than their males. After only one year of tutoring, she would carve you with a batleth. I have never taught such a pupil. I hold her as close to my hearts as any sister or daughter, and am prouder of her than any relative I can think of."

"This is all very confusing." Kion shook his head. "Another human woman cared for my back, sat with me while their doctor examined me. She had white hair, and a quiet voice. Her mind was very disciplined, again I could sense little. Anger tinged her thoughts, and concern. Why does my presence evoke these emotions?"

"Poppy." Ghast barked a laugh. "How many humans have you exercised those _Shahan_ skills on?"

"Not many. No females."

"Although almost every female on this ship is a warrior, almost every one of them also seems to possess strong maternal instincts." Ghast watched Kion ponder his words. "They might take offense if this was pointed out, but it appears to be a basic character component that manifests itself in ways other than child bearing and rearing. And again, almost without exception, they seem to have strong sexual drive."

"Sexual drive?" Kion's last shred of indifference vanished. "You suggest the impossible."

"Maybe." Ghast laughed again. "Now, Poppy is no good with a batleth, but she could skin you alive with a d'ktagh. She has _Shahan_ temperament, if not your special skills. And I have never particularly noticed her quiet voice."

"You have observed them with the thoroughness of _Shahan_." Kion studied the older warrior. "How is it you are here?"

"At Xanadu? The Star and her crew has been hired to perform a service. The reason I am with the Star - I will tell you that story later. What can you tell me about Xanadu and the connections the Empire has with Traders?"

"Most of the business I know of has always been in sales. Lately, instead of killing them, many criminals are shipped here, but we have never dealt with Traders. Old Harruqq was the contact. I haven't made many trips to Bazaar, but it's common knowledge there are few Traders left. No one knows where they are, but they're not on Xanadu. Concessions still pay rent to Traders, and Harruqq is majority concession holder _and_ the Traders' formal representative on Xanadu."

"Your presence in the auction?" Ghast saw anger return to Kion's face as he asked the question.

"My captain. I found out he was cheating the council. He carried warriors to Bazaar who were not criminals. I am _Shahan_ , but my empathic and telepathic skills are on the low end of the scale." Frustration was evident in Kion's words. "I thought I had done my job well, and he was unaware of my knowledge. But I woke up in a holding cell on Xanadu many days ago."

"Captain of the Shalook is still Geetor?"

"Yes." Kion nodded. "You know him?"

"Geetor was one of the hunting party, when I died." Ghast growled.

"He has ears on the high council." Kion shrugged. "I was not able to report my findings on his character. I regret this."

"Llant'Gornu can remedy that oversight. It would be a small matter for this ship to return you to a safe Klingon port."

"She would do such a thing? The Gornu of legend is a far different creature."

"She is. I like this one better. And she is far more dangerous than the legends suggest." Ghast grunted and stretched. "Those fatigues look uncomfortable. Let me get you some real clothes, and introduce you to Star."

 

 _GORNU: POISON_

"Llant."

"Yes?" Her eyes came open. The nap had been short, but deep.

A muffled snort preceded Carey's next words. "Can you come to medbay? And bring Kion?"

"I'll be right there." Llant stood, yawned enormously, then crossed to the bar. "Orange juice." She touched the H'russ panel. "Ghast? I'm on my way to med bay, bring Kion."

They joined her in front of the lift.

"How are you feeling, Commander?" Llant saw Ghast shake his head slightly. There was a lack of color under the young Klingon's dark brown skin that seemed more pronounced than when he'd first spoken with her in med bay.

"Like a rogue service droid made tracks over me," Kion said lightly. "But I can function."

He wore an unornamented version of the Star uniform: long sleeved pullover sweater, black pants and knee high boots. "Ghast provided for your immediate needs?"

Kion looked to Ghast. "He has. But his success in addressing my curiosity has been limited. Why are you being so extraordinarily welcoming to an unknown, potentially dangerous Klingon warrior?"

They stepped into the lift.

"Med bay." Llant paused before she answered Kion. "This isn't an insult, but the danger you pose is minimal. Star keeps close watch on your movements."

Kion nodded. "Of course. It is that way on Klingon vessels. But will you answer my question?"

Llant met his eyes. "I bought you because you stood naked before a crowd of aliens with pride, when you could barely stand at all. Because Ghast was ready to leap onto that dais and dismember auction officials." Llant watched Kion absorb the information. "I will help you now because slavers are vermin, and because I have come to appreciate the pride of Klingons."

She held up her hand as he started to speak. "Also because Poppy spoke for your rescue, and she rarely shows interest in alien males, particularly Klingons."

"The one with white hair?" Kion frowned, looked uneasily at Ghast. "I perceive subtext. Is there an easy explanation?"

"To understand human humor, you must first be able to recognize it _as_ humor." Ghast's eyebrows arched, his eyes twinkled. "She's making a small joke, and warning you at the same time. I did try to warn you."

"Ghast." Llant frowned at him. "He's intelligent and observant, but if you think heavy-handed hints are necessary . . ."

Kion looked between them, perplexed.

They walked the short distance past Carey's office to where Morgan waited. She conducted a lightning evaluation of Kion that seemed to strip him back to his skin, then her eyes dismissed him.

"He won't say anything, Llant." Morgan's violet eyes darkened to midnight wine-blue. Exasperation was apparent in every gesture and intonation. "He gave his name and rank. Period. He is arrogant, condescending, and rather stupid." The tiny woman made a rude noise at the Fed who sat staring stonily at the ceiling. "May I have permission to use persuasion?"

"Be calm, Morgan. This shouldn't be a problem."

Nordstromm turned his back toward them, shoulders held stiff with obstinence.

"You know who we are and where you are, Nordstromm. We were hired by Admiral Dali-Bane to recover any Federation operatives we could find on Xanadu. Morgan has explained this to you. Is there something you don't understand?"

Nordstromm made a sniffing sound.

"You refuse to cooperate in the successful completion of a UFP-initiated mission?"

Nordstromm shrugged. "It must be obvious I can't give classified information to someone like you. The fact that a Federation officer wears a motion inhibitor, while two Klingons walk free beside you, adds weight to my conviction."

Llant looked from Nordstromm to Kion, smiling tightly. "This Klingon has not only been cooperative, and his manners distinctly better than yours, but his rank is higher as well. The other warrior is a member of my crew. Have you seen my orders?"

"Orders can be faked."

"Morgan, why is he still restrained?"

Morgan sat on the empty bed. "Carey didn't get around to it, and he refused to let me remove the collar. He was abusive and rude, so I desisted in the effort. His condition is a result of his own choice."

"Carey?"

Carey poked her head out of her office. "Captain?"

"Have you discovered what kind of drug was used on Nordstromm?" Llant asked.

"Combination hypnotic-tranquilizer," Carey said. "Jinn-synth, I suspect."

"What are the chances the Xanadi know less than he does about his business?"

"They could have found out what he had for breakfast 15 years ago. I think I could reproduce the drug if you want to conduct a trial." Carey motioned to Kion. "I want you for a minute."

Llant turned to Nordstromm. "Well?"

Nordstromm's face was very red. "I won't tell you anything voluntarily."

"Think about it." Llant shrugged. "Morgan, replay our orders for him, then put him in the brig. This will give him time to think about what his officers will have to say when I return him. Nordstromm, until you volunteer to cooperate, you'll be kept in confinement and ignored."

Llant caught Ghast's eyes. "A word." They left med bay. Llant stopped in the corridor as the door shut behind them.

"Kion looks like he could use some sleep."

"I'll take him to my quarters when Carey is done with him. I have a bad feeling in my bones. He is not recovering as I expected."

"Carey's a good doctor. We meet in the briefing room in a few minutes, patch in if you're not sleeping."

"Ayiah. And _thari_ \-- about dismembering Xanadi, I am still willing. I am very disturbed by the things Kion has told me."

"As I am." Llant gripped his forearm tightly. "Soon, old warrior. Take care of Kion."

 

"Your opinion of Nordstromm and Kion?" Llant sat restlessly in her chair, dipping one hand into the H'russ panel to touch Star's equilibrium.

"Planted," Poppy said. "The auction was too convenient."

"I suggest Nordstromm was specially prepared to give us a rough time." Morgan added. "Carey told me the drug they used on him was more powerful than anything she's familiar with."

"And Kion?" Llant asked.

"Let me be blunt. He is Klingon, physically attractive, dangerous. If I had wanted your attention, that's how I'd try and get it," Morgan said. "Look at you, _na chauni_. Take some time, invite Wolfe or Ghast to the gym and work off some of that energy."

"Outside of a few close associates, who could predict such a response from me?" Llant looked down the table at her officers. "If we're dealing with an enemy who can bait a trap with such finesse, then Kion is a potential threat."

"Your mind is still working. That's a good sign," Wolfe's voice came from the speaker.

"What is Ghast's opinion?" Poppy asked.

"Ghast has not yet given his opinion."

"Kion sleeps." Ghast's voice came from com. "Yes, he is a dangerous warrior; but not, I think, to anyone on this ship. He was sold by his captain to the Slavers."

"Have you asked him about the Telli?" Llant asked.

"Not yet. Should I do so when he wakes?"

"Yes."

"Llant, come to med bay." Carey's interruption was terse. "I've got something."

Llant nodded dismissal at her crewmembers. "On my way."

 

"Here." Carey pointed to her desk screen. "I was comparing the drugs used on Kion and Nordstromm again, trying to get a better handle on what they're using. Definitely synth, probably from Jinnji labs, they look like they're custom for each man. If I'd never treated Klingons before I wouldn't have noticed this, it's tagged right into the drug."

"I don't know what I'm looking at." Llant frowned.

"Look," Carey touched another icon on her screen. "This construct is universal antidote in Klingon blood."

Llant studied the side-by-side images. "And that portion of the drug in Kion's blood is almost identical," she said slowly. "So he's been treated for some illness by non-Klingon medics?"

"Not exactly. I got suspicious and studied the blood and tissue samples I took when Kion first came aboard." Carey clicked the transparent orange views into oblivion. "It's bad, Llant. He's been poisoned. I don't know what they've used, but it's going to kick in like a photon mine when the last of whatever they drugged him with dissipates."

"And you don't know any more about the poison then you do the drug." Llant stared at the screen, frustration rising. "I'm unhappy, Carey. I don't like the Feds, don't like working with them. I am unhappy there are few Traders left in Bazaar, unhappy that Harruqq has not long since joined his ancestors. And I am very unhappy that you cannot identify this poison."

"I'm working on it, Llant. Get out of here and leave me to it." Carey settled down at her screen. "Best have a talk with Kion."

 

Llant returned to her quarters and pulled off her boots. She paced, her bare feet curling into the deep plush on the floor. Why would they poison Kion, drug him with a temporary antidote, then place him in auction, knowing she would buy him as surely as she would buy Nordstromm?

She went into her bedroom and showered. Afterwards, thinking of Harruqq, she dressed in the body suit of Arcanii whitemail that White Death had given to her so many years ago. Braiding her hair away from her face, Llant knew she was consciously preparing for war. She had not worn the mail since the day she'd transferred Korax off the Star.

Llant studied the image in her mirrors. Her fingers caressed the silky texture of the flexible, impenetrable mail. She turned her back on the mirror, left her quarters and walked down the corridor to Ghast's rooms.

"Come." Ghast stood as she entered, his face and posture altering as he examined her. "That looks functional," he said finally. "He's sleeping."

Kion was curled into one of Ghast's big chairs, deeply asleep. Maroon circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes.

"Kion."

The Klingon came awake, slowly, disagreeably. He opened his eyes and squinted at her brilliant attire. Training took over his battered body, and he tuck and rolled out of the chair, ending in a battle crouch.

"Good reflexes." Llant looked at Ghast. "We have a problem."

Kion straightened shakily. He saluted. "Where is the war, captain?"

Llant sat down on the floor, pulling her legs under her. "Sit, Kion. Let's talk."

The young Klingon sat across from her, stiffly crossing his legs. "I've never seen Arcanii battle armor tailored for a human. You look impressive wearing that mail. I would never have believed the reality could improve on the myth. Who but Llant'Gornu of the Star would own a garment it would take the combined resources of a planetary system to buy?"

"It was a gift. Why are you here, Kion?"

Kion looked at Ghast, standing behind her. "To kill you."

"Will you succeed?"

Kion's expression was contemplative. "I didn't intend to try."

"And so?"

"I will die."

"This doesn't bother you." Llant heard Ghast's chest rumble as he began to speak, then stopped himself.

Kion shrugged. "A Klingon is always prepared to die. I was dead when my captain sold me."

"Tell her about this thing," Ghast prompted.

"My captain sold me to Harruqq. I was not a compliant captive, and abuse resulted. Before the sale I was beaten and drugged again, and given instructions. A female human would buy me, and I would kill her, make my way back to Bazaar or I would die. They gave me poison, a short-term antidote, and the information that to identify the poison would take far too long for any of even the best research scientists."

"As if a warrior would care for that." Ghast snorted. "They know little of Klingons."

"They judge me by my captain," Kion said. "He is no warrior."

"And of course I bought you. How do you feel?"

"Not well." Kion acknowledged.

Llant touched her com badge. "Carey?"

"Here."

"Status."

"I need more time. But bring Kion to med bay, I reproduced the drug they gave him. How does he feel?"

"Ill. We're on our way." She stood. "Come on. We'll see what Carey can do for you."

Kion tried to stand, and staggered. "It may be too late."

Ghast steadied him, and led him to the door. "You're still alive."

In the lift, Kion leaned against the wall. "You could return me to Bazaar." His words were aimed at Ghast. "I might at least die fighting."

"Speak of fighting again when you can pull your knife, and remain standing while you do so," Ghast growled. "Then we might fight together."

The lift slowed. As the door opened, Kion fell to his knees. Between them, Llant and Ghast half-carried him the short distance to med bay.

Carey consulted her tricorder. "Oh boy. Like a photon mine, I said." She whirled and grabbed a hypo-spray. "I can't risk separating the elements of the drug/antidote they gave him. So in order to keep him alive, we're going to have a drugged Klingon on our hands."

"Better than a dead Klingon." Llant said shortly.

"Is she really Llant'Gornu?" Kion asked Ghast.

"Be quiet." Carey administered a second spray.

Slowly Kion's uneven vital signs begin to normalize.

"It worked." Carey consulted her slate. "I can give him maybe three more doses. I estimate every four hours, it may vary. Then, unless we can identify the poison, I won't be able to do more."

"Kion? How do you feel?" Llant asked.

"I am useless as a warrior in this condition," he said with disgust.

"Go away, Llant." Carey pushed Kion down on the med bed. "He needs to stay quiet, you need to find answers. I see you're dressed for asking somebody questions."

"Any change, let me know immediately." Llant turned and left med bay, closely followed by Ghast. In the corridor, she touched the wall com. "Poppy, Glo, Morgan to the transporter room. Dress for war. Bridge."

"Allallu here."

"I am on my way to visit Harruqq in Bazaar. Poppy, Glo, Morgan, Ghast and I will be beaming down in a few minutes."

"War, Llant?" Wolfe cut in.

"Yes. Can we punch a hole in the shield down there?"

"Star says we can do it," Shelia answered, "but it will be messy and not make us any friends."

"Congratulate her on advanced use of sarcasm." Llant turned to Ghast. "Here's your chance. It looks like we're in for a fight."

"Good." Ghast growled. "I will find those responsible for poisoning a Klingon warrior."

"It was a base deed." Llant entered the lift. "Transporter."

"What are you thinking, _thari_?"

The sound of his voice, his familiar physical presence stabbed at her heart. Llant met his searching eyes with false composure. "I was thinking I am nearly as angry about Kion's condition as I was about the fate of a colony of lindtherians."

"Sa." Ghast touched the whitemail over her arm, fingered the slick surface. "That's another story you will tell me some day."

"Some day. They expected him kill me, Ghast."

He frowned. "I believe they did. But apart from being a warrior, he is not a fool. If he killed you and found his way back to Bazaar, why should Harruqq's people give him the antidote? They would let him die, and laugh. _Shahan_ are extremely intelligent. Kion would not act as a slimy slaver's tool."

"We will try and prevent his death, and punish those who attempted this thing."

Gwen looked up from her station as they entered. She stared at her captain in obvious amazement. "Mayhem and murder."

"Captain -- " Poppy, Glo and Morgan came in behind them, and pulled up short.

"Whitemail." Poppy stared at her captain. "Serious war, sir?"

Llant looked from face to face. Poppy and Morgan were clothed in battle black, no extras to hinder them. "We are going to chat with Harruqq the Slaver. Commander Kion has been poisoned, and instructed to kill me if he wishes to be given the antidote."

"Poisoned? Can Carey counteract it?" Poppy's hand went past her phaser to her knife.

"She's working on it, but the drugs used on both men were Jinn-synths."

"So we'd better get the sequences, or a sample, from below." Morgan said.

"It's his best hope. I can't predict how the interview with Harruqq will go, but be prepared for any attempt to terminate the conversation," Llant said. "Let's go."


	6. Chapter 6

_GORNU: CLAIM JUMP_

Response at Xanadu's exterior entrance was slower than first contact.

"I want Bastian, and soon," Llant said, studying the curtain of energy that barred her from the caverns. She motioned and Poppy and Morgan split apart, knelt and trained phasers at different parts of the rock.

The barrier dissolved with a shimmer.

"Captain." Bastian waltzed forward, his ears fully extended, nose wrinkled. Llant recognized the Bendali grimace of delight. "Please have your people put their weapons away. You are welcome here."

"Thank you, Ser Bastian. I need you to arrange an immediate interview for me. I have a complaint to make about some merchandise I purchased."

"How unfortunate." Bastian was purring again. "You wish to interview --?"

"Harruqq the Slaver."

"That may be difficult, Captain." Bastian's ears fanned open and shut. "Harruqq does not give interviews or accept complaints."

"I think he will speak with me."

Bastian inspected the slim white figure backed by her dark entourage. "You are undoubtedly right, Llant'Gornu. I will arrange."

Silence spread out about the group as they followed Bastian back into Bazaar. Shops closed as they passed, passersby disappeared into convenient caverns. Only Bastian seemed unconcerned by the lethal appearance of the group he escorted.

"Please wait here." The Bendali gestured at the benches where they had first seen the slave procession. Bastian crossed to a hooded com.

"The Bendali is pleased." Llant watched his tail swinging gently.

"Pleased about what, I wonder?" Morgan asked.

"Trust may be too strong a word, but Bastian is Bendali, and the Bendali hate Slavers. Too many of their people ended up as fashion accessories before the Fleet drove Harruqq away from fringe space. I trust Bastian, to some degree. He does not help Harruqq." Llant stood beside Ghast, watching their surroundings.

"Captain Gornu. Harruqq will see you now. Understandably, he does not wish to confront you face to face, but there is a conference vidscreen in the auction rooms."

"My thanks."

They followed Bastian past the massive metal doors, down to the stage where they had first seen Nordstromm and Kion. Bastian activated the screen, bowed and disappeared into the shadows.

Llant motioned and her team fanned out behind her.

"Cap'tain Llant'Gornu di Takka'aq Dorg. It is interesting pleasure to view your self."

"Your father was your mother, Harruqq." Llant could see nothing but the bulk of the huge Slaver. Heavily muscled arms filled most of the screen, and a grey-green mottled paunch that supported a flexible lizard-like head.

"You know good insults, Cap'tin. You want trade insults, you want lodge complaint? Cat say you get bad merchandise from Harruqq. How that be? Fine males no good in sack? Standardform consultants assure Harruqq both got good equipment for human-type exercise. Consultants assure Harruqq that what Cap'tin like best."

"Your consultants suck eggs, Harruqq. Maybe I should speak with them and let you go back to sitting on your nest. Which consultants say _have the Klingon kill Llant'Gornu_?"

A long red and green tongue shot out between jagged yellow teeth, and an untranslated noise followed. "My warriors will strip that Arcanii mail from your bones, Cap'tin. Feds not welcome in Bazaar."

"I had a Fed commission. I was given a Fed to take back home. Commission filled. Now I represent myself, and you're in trouble, Slaver." Llant motioned to Bastian. "Open this to the general channel."

Bastian's claws flew over com keys and green lights blinked on below the screen.

"Get out of Bazaar, Harruqq, get far away from Federation fringe space. This word is on my own account and responsibility, and is my final word to you, Slaver. You have moved against me, to cause my death. Now, I'm claim-jumping you. All that was yours in Bazaar is mine. Llant'Gornu says this before witnesses."

The grey-green lizard on the screen was slowly turning black.

"War," it hissed, and was gone.

"Captain," Bastian bowed the first-degree Bendali bow of welcome and farewell. "I am going away now for a while." He turned to call up new images on the viewer. "This is the newest simluation of Bazaar holdings. These are Harruqq's warrens, this is the list of code keys for locations of building diagrams, schematics, com lines . . . the second master computer in Bazaar is in his main warren, and can monitor everything the city computer can. Move quickly, Captain Gornu."

"Thank you, Bastian. Be safe."

Morgan was at the com link, studying the diagrams. "We need to put the city-computer monitor link out of commission."

"Roll!" Ghast gave the order, and no one paused to consider his authority to do it. Disrupter fire sizzled into emptiness and charred the walls where they had stood. Morgan fired as she hit the ground, and one figure dropped.

Llant slipped toward the entry with her back against the wall.

"They're gone, Cap." Poppy met her in the doorway. Morgan, Glo and Ghast slid from behind seats on tiers by the entry and joined them.

"We need a computer terminal," Morgan said.

Poppy gestured down the walkway. "Crash a shop."

They exited into a deserted, echoing cavern. Shops were darkened, owners absent. An unblocked, empty food booth provided a terminal. Morgan took over.

"What's going on here?" Llant wondered out loud. "Why not just let me take Nordstromm home. The Feds would find out sooner or later the Traders have left. Killing me would just delay the inevitable."

"Which is?" Ghast asked.

"Well . . ." Llant shrugged. "I imagine they'll assign a couple of starships to come out here and clean house. Bazaar was covered by the noninterference directive only as long as Traders took responsibility for it. The real estate is viewed by Star Fleet as under a kind of grandfather clause. If they know Traders no longer claim it, it will be considered Federation fringe space."

"Harruqq may operate primarily in fringe space, but he is viewed as a criminal by Star Fleet, and may not own or operate any facility in Federation space," Morgan added, keying furiously.

"So Star Fleet could come in here now and claim the entire planetoid," Ghast said.

"Yes."

"What would happen to the other businesses on Xanadu?" Poppy kept watch on her tricorder. "Company coming, soon. From above."

"I'm not sure." Llant scanned the tiers that rose majestically above their heads. "I'd leave if I were confronted by the Fleet as my new landlord. Federation taxes and regulations will not be well received by the type of renter this planetoid supports."

"This could be your answer, child." Glo spoke softly from where she sat in the shadows next to the booth.

"Harruqq's been stalling." Llant was suddenly sure. "Federation operatives and scout ships have not come back from Xanadu and the Fleet's been cautious about responding, because they're not supposed to be out here anyway."

"But what could Harruqq gain?" Poppy asked. "A little time, a little more income?"

"Income. White Death." Llant tapped Morgan's shoulder. "I want financial information on Harruqq. Now. I want his Bancom records."

Morgan stared at her captain, mouth slightly open in astonishment. "You think he's got a legitimate account with Bancom?"

"Work more, speak less, Morgan."

"Okay. By the way, I just got through to cavern computer-monitor control. It's out."

"Good job."

"Yes, it was. But I didn't do it." Morgan was keying again, swearing under her breath.

"Explain."

"Message left on repeating loop: _Snafu courtesy Lagos Antry._ "

"Veriand!" Llant laughed.

"Roll!" Ghast roared.

The computer terminal exploded.

"They're shooting straight in!" Morgan lay on her belly and continued keying.

"Poppy, light grenade, and we're out."

"Wait! Wait!" Morgan stared at her screen. "Okay. I'm ready."

Poppy detached a fragment of her bracelet and inched to the doorway. Light followed by thick smoke rolled down the corridor. "Move!"

They ran from the food booth. Figures loomed in the smoke. Ghast and Glo rushed to meet them.

"Captain Gornu." A whisper of throaty sound from a darkened cavern mouth scattered the rest of the group. The whisper was followed by the stoop-shouldered figure of a Gernishi.

"Don't shoot!" Llant held up a hand, and stepped forward cautiously.

Llant had always thought of Gernishi as dwarves wearing badger suits. This one blinked at her through tinted glasses that protected its sensitive eyes from the general lighting outside its burrow.

"You know name of Sharsh?"

"Yes!" Llant grinned and dropped onto one knee, taking the Gernishi's paw in her hand. "Sharsh owes me credits, little bandit."

"Sharsh is litter mate. I am Sheesh. Me mate once say you bail him out of great lighted Fed jail after he bite a fleet man in a bar fight."

"It's okay," Llant called to her companions. "Sheesh is a friend." She saw Ghast drop his last upright assailant. "Step in here."

They followed the Gernishi into his darkened cavern.

"You need to get Harruqq. I know way, quick, unannounced. Okay?"

"Okay!" Llant found the night goggles on her utility belt, and adjusted them until she could see clearly. The rest of her companions were doing the same. "We're ready."

"I be maintenance from Trader days. You are all hulking big things, but maybe can get through Sheesh's route. All except that one." Sheesh pointed at Glo.

"She'll fit." Llant looked from Glo to Ghast. "You'd better strip off that tunic. You've been getting broader, old warrior."

Sheesh rubbed his paws together and slapped his long toes against the floor. "Best hurry."

Ghast growled, but began to unfasten the padded leather garment.

"This makes me feel young again," Llant muttered, wriggling into a service port behind the Gernishi. "Where will we come out, Sheesh?"

"Above Harruqq business offices. Last one in line must reclose ports."

Llant called back over her shoulder, "That's you, Glo. Take the rear."

They crawled through endless, dusty spaces, inching up vertical passages with their backs pressed to one side, knees and palms to the other.

"This is hot work." Ghast muttered, from behind her. He paused as they left a vertical stint to crawl level for a way. "And I'm not built for it. If I get stuck -"

"You were complaining about getting fat," Llant said. "If you get stuck, we'll carve some of you off, and push."

Ghast growled. "I look forward to our next workout together."

Sheesh slowed. "Got challenge ahead. Leave this system, cross Vree habitat, run up corridor, enter port, continue to offices."

"Vree habitat. Great." Llant sighed.

"Noxious gas with a trace of oxygen, probably gravel on the floor," Ghast said.

"You right about that. Bad stink," Sheesh agreed.

"Pass the word back, Ghast. Tell them to run fast, and don't breathe any of that stuff."

They waited as the explanation traveled down the line.

"All right." Ghast said finally. "They're ready."

Sheesh opened the port. They spilled out into a softly blue-lit corridor covered with walnut-sized gravel. Even holding her breath, a dreadful stench hovered on the edge of Llant's senses.

Sheesh scurried over the gravel with sure-footed grace.

Llant followed, hearing the subvocalized protests of her comrades directly behind her. She moved quickly past a thin figure leaning against a wall that honked in surprise. Glancing back over her shoulder she saw Morgan dance and slide on the gravel for a moment. Poppy steadied her, then they were all past the astonished Vree.

Sheesh rounded a corner and stopped before a port. He punched access codes with his blunt appendages, and wiggled in while the port was still opening.

Llant followed, dropped nearly two meters, and had the presence of mind to scoot her butt down the tube after Sheesh before Ghast dropped on her. She paused when Sheesh stopped, drawing huge lungfuls of the sterile oxygen that filled the tunnel.

"All are well? Is the port closed?"

"Ayiah." Confirmation echoed down the line.

"Well, I knew Glo would be okay. What a stink!" Llant sneezed the last of the odor from her lungs.

"Follow Sheesh!" They were off again. "Nearly there now. One last climb. Good long climb!" Sheesh headed up a vertical shaft that appeared to dissolve into infinity.

"Remind me to add extra workout time to my morning routine," Llant said to Ghast. "Everybody okay back there?"

"It's not fair. Glo has turned into something with suckers. She's just rolling up this climb." Morgan's nearly inaudible complaint was tinged with breathlessness.

Ghast grunted. "Someone told me she was in superior condition, and didn't need to visit the gym daily," he rumbled. "We'll discuss her definition of _superior_ at morning workout tomorrow."

A circular spot of light grew into a port-size opening. Sheesh heaved himself over the edge into a horizontal shaft. They sat there panting, cramped and tired.

"Here." Sheesh tapped the floor softly. "Below us. I scout ahead. Wait and rest."

"I'm not leaving by that route," Ghast said grimly.

"Okay. Two, three guards." Sheesh was back. "Auto-shield in computer room. Whole place goes vacuum if breached."

"Wonderful." Llant slumped back. "Morgan?"

"Count me out. I'm fast, but not that fast. And I breathe air. Lots of it."

"Layout, Sheesh?"

"Outer offices have n'Flzz guards. Computer in inner offices. Each can be sealed separately."

"Glo."

"Captain." Glo had returned to womanform.

"I know it's not your area of expertise but you're up on this one. Give her some pointers, Morgan. I want stored memory relayed to the Star, then wiped down here. I want Harruqq's entire complex sealed."

"And Harruqq?" Morgan asked.

"Who cares. I'm going to take all his credit. I feel comfortable with this approach. If we run into him personally, Ghast can have the pleasure. Poppy -- the guards?"

"Stun level two, at the head. It'll knock those lizards cold for several hours."

"Are we ready? Sheesh, how do we go in?"

"The next two ports enter outer offices. I'm on my way to healthy place. Sharsh will be pleased to hear I could repay Gem."

"My thanks to you both. Go quickly!"

The Gernishi had already shambled down the shaft.

Llant crawled to the second port. "Poppy, down first there. Ghast, follow me."

Poppy positioned herself. "Go!"

They dropped from the ceiling in unison, light and quick. Poppy and Llant landed nearly face to face with two n'Flzz guards. They rolled and fired, as Ghast and Morgan dropped behind them. The lizards fell, but not before a third guard emerged from another office and hit an alarm panel on the wall.

Ghast picked him up, shook him. They grappled for a several moments, then Ghast dropped him with a solid punch and a roar that vibrated in the air.

"Seal!" Llant yelled at Morgan.

Morgan ran to a terminal and frantically worked as the sounds of suction from behind a plexisteel/glass entry slowed. "That's it, Cap. They've got a planet-strength shield generator running in there, and full vacuum in the computer room. Inaccessible to us."

"Glo!" Twinkling storage towers were visible through the clear plexishield. "Hurry. We should have visitors soon."

Glo's womanform elongated, dissolved into a cloud and seeped through plexishield to float lightly into the computer room. Hairlike tentacles branched from the froth of matter to caress each tower.

Llant saw the wonder in Ghast's face.

"What kind of creature is that?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. There are a few lifeforms that exist in vacuum. Glo must have seen that one at some time in her life, or she couldn't reproduce it."

"Handy talent in a crewmember," Ghast said.

"All my crewmembers are talented." She grinned at him, and touched her com. "Llant to Star."

"Cap! Where have you been?"

"Shut up Allallu. You have my coordinates?"

"Yes! Star says this is not easy, and you should be impressed!"

"So impress me some more. Tell Star to punch her hole. Now! And get me Carey."

"Carey here."

"Prepare for uplink from planetoid computer. How's research?"

"Not good." Carey's voice carried her frustration and worry.

"Tell Star to be ready for separation of medical data from uplink."

"I overestimated the duration of my substitute drug. We've only got one dose left." Carey said. "I could try to put him into stasis, that's my last resort."

"Do what you can. We're nearly through here."

Morgan turned from her terminal. "We've got uplink, and we've got company outside. They're burning the door in."

Ghast growled, and turned to face the door in a battle crouch.

They watched the door as Glo began extracting herself from vacuum.

"Door coming through!"

Smoke billowed, and an explosion of sparks and tortured metal. Four n'Flzz tumbled into the room.

Llant stepped behind a desk and watched Ghast drop two of the guards.

"Hey!" Poppy shouted as she took careful aim at a third, who was pointing a disrupter at Ghast. It fell to the floor, flopping like a distressed fish unexpectedly thrust into the air.

Ghast rushed toward the remaining lizard. The encounter was brief, although the guard pulled a knife on the Klingon, slicing his arm as they wrestled. Ghast wrenched the weapon away, smacked the guard's head on the wall, then heaved the creature into the air. It joined its fellows in a pile of rubbery necks and limp legs.

"Allallu. How's the uplink?" Llant joined her crew by the smoking doorway.

"We've got it! Data transfer complete. Star has started re-initialization of the ground computer. That should effectively delete its memory."

"Glo, come on." Llant watched the cloud of Vandorian matter solidify and reform. "Five to beam up. Now!"

The offices went away, and when Llant's eyes cleared she was looking at Gwen's worried face.

"Cap. Wolfe says get your butt up to the bridge, now. We've got the White Death in view."

"On my way. Morgan, get down to med bay and help Carey with the data." Llant sprinted for the lift, followed closely by Ghast, Poppy and Glo.

"Bridge." Llant felt the rush of adrenaline outstrip the speed of the lift as she met Ghast's eyes. "You enjoyed that?"

"It was pleasant," he agreed. "Short, though."

"You should be in med bay. You're bleeding on Star."

Ghast glanced at his arm. "It's nearly stopped. You made me remove my tunic," he pointed out, "which I would like to retrieve before we go." The lift doors opened onto the bridge.

"Transmission incoming." Takworthy said as they entered.

Star automatically dimmed the bridge lights as Llant took her place in front of her chair. Sinking one hand into the H'russ panel, Llant sent a quick thought to her ship. _White Death won't respond to dramatics._

 _It's not dramatics. It's the type of radiation that occurs on his world. The whitemail was created to reflect this light. It will be like flame to his perceptions._

"Gem." The viewscreen was filled with the blind, white-furred face of the Arcanii. "I sense you have found my gift useful."

"White Death. I find honor in the wearing."

"You always were a respectful creature, so rare in alien species. I have been given an order to destroy your ship. I doubt I could do this, but I might injure you for others."

"Harruqq's order?" Llant saw White Death incline his head. "He was going to hire your mercenaries to guard Xanadu. And he came very close to being able to afford it. Harruqq was ambitious, lucky and very wealthy. He wanted Xanadu for himself when all Traders were gone, but knew he could only keep it if it were surrounded with a force not even Star Fleet would care to challenge."

"A costly proposition," White Death agreed. "I always doubted his ability to carry through with this program. He disliked paying my insignificant fee. Another ten Arcanii captains would have been an investment most governments would find burdensome."

Llant nodded. "Are you still employed, White Death?"

"How can I work for a creature that instructs me to harm Gem Gornu? He is a foolish lizard. And no longer wealthy, I understand."

"No. He's been claim-jumped. Have you any interest in Xanadu?" Llant asked.

"It is a good base for out-ranging. But if the Fleet comes, White Death goes. Many feel this way. In part this is why Harruqq was unchallenged so long. He was disliked, but kept the Fleet away."

"Do you know the daughter of Lagos Antry, Liquor Guildsholder on Xanadu?" Llant asked.

"Veriand." White Death inclined his head. "I know of her."

"I am thinking, White Death. Will you converse with the two of us?"

"In the flesh, Gem?"

"On Xanadu, White Death. I will contact Veriand and apprise you of a time."

"You are dangerous when you think, Gem."

White Death faded from the screen.

Llant touched her com stud. "Carey?"

"Morgan. Carey's busy, got her nose buried in a scanner going through the data we lifted from Harruqq's computer."

"Kion?"

"Better come," Morgan said.

"On my way. And Morgan, get through to Bancom and finish it."

"Cap?" Poppy stood in front of her station, waiting.

Llant nodded, seeing her own concern reflected in Poppy's face. "Come."

 

"Commander." Llant touched his shoulder, trying to ignore the grim readings above Kion's bed.

"Ghast." His voice was thick and slurred. "Tell her to let me die."

"Carey likes to make her patients suffer to the end." Ghast seized Kion's wrist in a strong grip. "You are a warrior, you should be able to bear it."

Kion's grin turned into a grimace. Llant moved away.

Poppy took her place. "We're not going to let you die. The Slaver responsible for your condition has been dealt with."

"A short, but interesting affair." Ghast nodded at Poppy across the bed.

"That's it!"

Llant saw Carey's fingers fly over her medslate.

"This is nasty. Morgan, Poppy, get the shell on him."

Morgan and Poppy worked in tandem, sliding the bioshell over Kion as the bed telltales began to beep insistently.

Carey plugged her slate into the shell, monitoring the Klingon with a tricorder and vitals board simultaneously. "Okay. Into two major arteries, biofilters active for these agents . . . and probable antidote for the rest."

Kion's body arched. The monitors pulsed warning.

"Hold on." Carey's voice sounded strained. "We're getting rid of it."

Kion convulsed again, then the readouts steadied and his breathing began to slow.

"That was close. I think he's going to be all right." Carey took a deep breath. "No major organ damage, all traces of the poison will be gone soon. I'm going to put him to sleep."

"Very well done, Carey." Llant said. "Let me know when he wakes up."

Allallu's voice came from the com. "Veriand is responding."

"I need to wrap this up." Llant turned to Ghast. "Would you like to come?"

"Indeed. I wouldn't miss it."

"He's bleeding on Star." Carey ran a regenerator over the old Klingon's arm. "What happened to his tunic?"

"We'll tell you later." Llant found herself staring at the old scar on Ghast's shoulder cap. There _were_ still things they didn't know about each other. Looking between the old and young Klingon it seemed to Llant that the time had come to talk about some of those things.

"That's better." Carey finished treatment of the wound. "What about Nordstromm? He's still in detention."

"Has anyone moved in with him?"

"No." Carey made a face. "No one who's been near him likes him."

"Tell him he'll be facing Dali-Bane in approximately five days." Llant shrugged. "His superiors are going to be disturbed when they realized what happened here. Warn him, so he can worry about it."

 

Morgan and Wolfe were still on the bridge when Llant returned from Xanadu.

"We found the Telli." She sank wearily into her chair. "Inside the sealed compound. He was working in a menial maintenance capacity for Harruqq. He said no one would buy him, and it didn't hurt his feelings."

"You brought him back with you?" Wolfe asked.

"No. He wanted to stay. It seems there might be even better trade possibilities for Tellis now." Llant stretched her legs and yawned. "Take us back to Dali-Bane, maximum speed." She slipped a wafer from her belt and offered it to Wolfe.

"Enter in ship's archives for the crew to scan. It'll save me a lecture. I talked enough down there."

"Coordinates laid in," Morgan acknowledged.

"Wolfe, take the com. I'm off duty for a while." Llant stepped toward the lift.

"Poppy says Kion is nearly recovered." Wolfe stood in front of the command chair.

Llant wasn't deceived by the casual statement. "I'm on my way to check. Worried about the Klingon population, Wolfe?"

"I let my Captain do that." Wolfe turned back to the viewscreen.

"Let Ghast know I'm going to interview Kion," Llant said. "He can be there if he wishes."

 

Llant found T'Prenda reading at the med lab scanner. "Where's Carey?"

"The doctor said she needed to sleep for a week. She claimed to have thought too much, in too short a time."

Llant grinned at the Vulcan's dry recital. "How is Commander Kion?"

"Tests for poison are all negative. He's been sleeping."

"Does he need to stay in med bay?"

"Carey said you may make other arrangements." T'Prenda's eye twitched into a wink, then she returned to her reading.

Kion was sitting up. His color was better and the circles under his eyes were nearly gone.

"You look much improved."

"Captain." Kion swung off the bed. "Physically, my head is clear, and only minor stiffness remains."

"Good." Llant felt her pulse accelerate. "I could have left you at Bazaar, but we're headed for a Star Base now."

The door opened and Ghast entered. He took a seat on the other bed, sighed explosively. "It's good to see you alive."

Kion frowned at the older Klingon. "A paradox, since I am dead to the empire. My captain must have listed me as dead. Any attempted return to life would be short. Geetor is influential. I no longer have proof of his thieving tendencies."

"There are mercenary groups who would welcome you. Dangerous if I you are identified by another Shahan. They don't like their warriors working for anyone else," Ghast said.

"What is Shahan?" Llant looked between them. "I am somewhat familiar with Shahar guild. Ghast has spoken of his past."

Kion's eyes locked with Ghast's, then he turned his complete attention on Llant. She held his stare, aware she was being measured in some way.

"If Shahar are our elite warriors; Shahan is the intelligence arm of the empire. There are few of us, qualifications are stringent. Shahan do not retire. They are given administrative jobs as they age, but they are never allowed to leave the service. Unless they die." Kion laughed. "At which time they are honorably retired."

"He does not say Shahan are the most intelligent and innovative warriors we have. They scout our adversaries, and gather information for the warbirds without necessarily engaging the enemy in conflict. Few Klingons are suited to be Shahan," Ghast said.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you later, about being Klingon, and Shahan." Llant rubbed her temples. "Right now I'm tired and hungry. Kion, you're welcome to join our colony. Ghast will speak with you, answer your questions. When you've reached a decision, he'll let me know. Star would also convey you to any other port you might prefer."

Llant saw Kion look to the older Klingon with questioning eyes. Something in the way he held his head made her eyes begin to sting. "Gym at the usual time, Ghast." She turned abruptly and left med bay.

Llant stood and touched her forehead against the wall of the lift, feeling the indistinct surge of Star's mind comfort her.

 

 _GHAST: YOU WILL BE SURPRISED_

Ghast watched her leave. Something had deeply touched her, and from the way she stared at Kion, he suspected it was something to do with Klingons.

"Come. We'll go to my quarters. I'm weary with listening to endless speech, and hungry."

Kion took a careful step. "I'm hungry too. Dr. Carey wouldn't give me anything to eat until the last blood samples came through clean." He looked to Ghast for enlightenment. "She said someone would undoubtedly take care of me. These females are very odd, even for humans."

"Sa!" Ghast sighed explosively. "You are going to be surprised."

Kion followed him to the lift. "You live with them, as a warrior? I know your reputation, and the more I see of these females, the odder I find your presence here."

"We'll eat, I'll tell you how I met her."

 

Ghast watched Kion hold a glass at eye level, and stare into the rich red wine. He'd found things to say about Llant'Gornu that he hadn't even known he had noticed, or thought about.

"As a recompense for being sold to slavers, beaten, drugged and poisoned this isn't too bad." Kion closed his eyes and swallowed some more wine. "Your choices seem sound. I am no closer to understanding this _sheld'kaj_ female captain, but I respect your assessments."

"You have made a few of your own. I have watched Shahan work before," Ghast pointed out.

"She is extraordinary." Kion frowned. "My telepathic abilities are limited, and her mind is disciplined. She is strong and dangerous, but she cares for you with the depth of family."

"This regard is returned." Ghast's face creased in an evil expression of humor. "They will steal your heart, these female warriors. And as to choices, what are yours?"

"Choices." Kion set his glass down. "Why would they welcome me?"

Ghast shrugged. "Because you have nowhere to go, because you are a warrior, and they are warriors. Because you may be of use in this new colony. Because I would welcome another Klingon to stand with me among all these females."

"What is your council?"

"Shahan asks Shahar an opinion on such a matter?" Ghast laughed loudly. "Do you have a mate?"

Kion frowned. "No. Why?"

Ghast stood, feeling the unexpected humor of Kion's situation fill him like buoyant gas. "You don't need to decide now. She has business to complete. We will sleep, then fight. You can watch my classes if you wish, and consider your options. This is how Shahan proceed, is it not?"

"I never suspected a dead Shahar might be so irritating." Kion yawned. "This floor is softer than my old bed. But I think I will sleep now."

 

 _GORNU: OUTWARD BOUND_

"So, what fate did you arrange with the White Death for Xanadu?" Poppy curled into a corner of Llant's couch, watching her captain warily.

Llant entered a request on the food replicator. "The Fleet won't be pleased."

She joined Poppy on the couch. "Star has a recording of the proceedings if you'd like to watch the actual arrangements. White Death, Veriand, Bastian, Telami the tech-contractor, Joe K'Miga of the mining guild, even our little friend Sheesh for the maintenance guild gathered around and formed a planetary government. Xanadu has now elected a board of directors, adopted a constitution, organized a police force and claimed Xanadu using legal federation precedents."

Poppy laughed. "You're right. They won't be pleased. Will they respect the legalities?"

"White Death and two of his brothers are police commissioners. I believe the Fleet will respect their claim. And attempt to tax them, no doubt. But those pirates will be able to cope with such minor annoyances. Harruqq's accounts went to good use. He funded the new government."

"Any word on Harruqq?"

"Gone. Quarters are emptied, and an asteroid prospector is missing a ship. Harruqq's own yacht was off on business."

"He's a nasty enemy," Poppy said.

"I've had worse." Llant stood as the buzzer on the replicator sounded. "Hungry?"

"Yes." Poppy followed her back to the bar.

"Grab a bottle of the Gamay. I'll get the steaks."

They ate seated on pillows at the low table in front of the couch.

"I was hungry." Poppy leaned back finally, staring at empty plate and glass. "And tired. Are you going to tell me why you invited me for dinner, tonight? Is it Kion?"

Llant stood, clearing the plates away. "You're interested in him." She returned to the couch and poured herself more wine.

Poppy's cheeks colored, but she grinned at Llant. "Interested. I haven't exchanged more than a dozen coherent words with him."

"One of those unexplainable chemical/biological things? Not your usual choice, Poppy. I'd have said Nordstromm was more your type, if you could prevent him from talking, that is." Llant weighed her next words. "Apparently Kion's work parallels yours. You may find you have a lot in common. I've already told him he is welcome to join the colony."

"I remember being less than supportive."

"That's past. It pleases me to see you regret the attitude, though." Llant smiled at her friend. "Thank you for sharing dinner with me. Get some sleep."

As tired as she was, Llant showered and returned to her living room. She paced before the wallscreen, watching the panorama of stars.

The men in her life seemed so far in the past: Petra, Lagos, Starr, Korax . . . She'd seen Poppy's eyes when she looked at Kion. And to look at Kion reminded her uncomfortably of Korax. Ghast evoked the emotion occasionally, but he was older, and his personality very different.

If she spent much time with Kion, she might begin to pretend.

Llant began the _ahar_ focus, centered herself. So she wouldn't spend time with him. Someone was needed to oversee the construction, Poppy would be a good choice. She could take Kion with her.

Llant moved slowly through final stretches, suddenly exhausted and mentally numb.

"Lights out." Llant curled into the H'russ extension by her desk, and drifted, cradled in the sensation of Star's silent companionship.

 _Gem?_

 _I hope it works for them, Star. I hope they can find common purpose, and happiness. If Klingons can be happy, in the end. The closer I grow to Ghast, the more I wonder about the answer to that question. Or perhaps the definition of the condition is the issue. Happiness for a human may be dishonor to a Klingon. Can we live together for any length of time with success? Others will answer that question for me, when I would have gladly done the research myself. I wonder if he thinks about me._

Finally, she slept.


	7. Chapter 7

**YEAR FOUR AFTER WRIGLEY: KORAX**

They parked the Frar in the massive hold of the empty ore freighter.

“She’d get there on her own, it would just take years.” Krill stood on the bridge of the Fleist with Korax, watching the great doors close over their little miner.

“All accounted for?”

“Ayiah. Ready to leave Agab, captain.” Arath sat at the helm.

“Notify the freighter. We’re following her course.”

Krill spoke shortly into the com. “They sent us destination coordinates. Planet called Eev, borderspace next to the Holley Rings in the Bergen. Computer says they have a small military post there, and a large civilian population consisting of miners, traders, some agriculturalists. It has a reputation as a busy port planet.”

“How long?”

“Mmm . . . three weeks at this speed, if we’re lucky,” Krill said.

“Shorter than a tour on the Frar. The men are settled?”

“Two replicators, lots of blood wine, and the new games bay? They can do three weeks easily. It’s a little crowded, and using hold space for bunks isn’t the best, but no one wanted to ship on the Frar or the freighter. It will give the two crews extra time together.”

“Brawls will be confined in closer quarters,” Korax said.

“They haven’t been fighting so much lately.”

Arath swivelled toward them. “I’m on duty here, no point you two crowding me.”

“You look good in the captain’s chair, Arath,” Korax said. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you like it.”

Arath snorted and turned back to his panels.

“I’m going to stress a replicator." Krill waited by the lift. "Coming?”

Korax nodded. “You’ve got the bridge, Arath. Try to stay awake.”

They found a tiny table wedged against the wall in the Fleist’s expanded mess. Men were lined up in front of the new replicator, carrying off plates full of replicated cuisine.

Krill sniffed the air. “I smell d'jelt! Shall I order you something?”

“No thank you. I’ll grab us a bottle, you get in line.”

Korax watched his friend slowly advance toward the replicator. He drank blood wine and took inventory of his crew. They seemed to be adjusting well to the move. Agab was universally regarded with disgust, a new post had been a welcome fantasy.

Krill rejoined him holding a steaming plate. He began to eat ravenously. “Moc has done well for us,” he said, around a mouth full.

“We've done well for Moc,” Korax said. “We took a raw crew and turned them into passable miners in only three work units. Arath, Lyn and Teig especially have shown leadership qualities, and invested extra patience and effort in this endeavor. We advance Moc’s personal and family fortune, and add to his honor. We've earned these basic amenities.”

“You have a warrior’s heart, and the mind of a smuggler,” Krill tossed back some wine.

“Don’t say that.”

Krill grinned. “It’s good, anticipating a new planet, new people and places to explore.”

“You don’t miss the Ba’iel, then? I wondered.”

Krill shrugged. “His people despise _don’hel_. He is lonely and more interested in conversation than sex. I liked him, but will not miss him.”

“Do you ever wish for a permanent companion, Krill?”

Krill pushed his plate away. “I had one. He died.”

“I’m finding, as I age, some recognition of that strange feeling I could never identify as a young warrior. The need for family is basic to our racial identity. We substitute service if we're not born into strong family, or we can't afford to support one of our own. Comrades become family.”

“But you wish for more?”

“I do. My oath-mate. Perhaps a son.” It was something he'd never admitted before.

Krill poured wine. “I believe the law would let you say the retraction without her presence. There are special circumstances. You have position and substance now, many females of good family would find you an acceptable mate.”

“That was vicious.” Korax relaxed his fist. “I want no Klingon female.”

“In that we are totally of one mind,” Krill said. “It's been over three years. You still want her?”

“I will no longer want her when I am dead,” Korax said. “But I know my early hopes of finding her again were foolish fantasies. Since I 've had access to official information channels, I’ve looked for any mention of the Star and her captain. Nothing has appeared. I'm reluctant to make a specific search, and bring myself to the attention of some security officer.”

“Eev isn’t as isolated as Agab. We may hear news. Strange there's been no mention of her in the bulletins, unless they've left fringe space altogether.”

Korax shrugged. “I have responsibilities to occupy my mind now. If any of these men can contemplate a better future because of what we do, that is well. Moc has indicated if trends continue to develop in the council, this post may become permanent, and families may be allowed.”

“Eev isn’t claimed by Quonos, just on the edge of our space. How will they feel about a Klingon colony there?”

“They've sold us land, and the military post is being vacated. Beyond these facts, I can't judge yet.”

“And the commander of our new post?”

“I will have unofficial command of both crews while we establish our presence on Eev. Further than that Moc has made no commitment. He probably has a brother or nephew to install in that post. Everything I've learned about Eev suggests it may be a decent place to create a strong Klingon settlement. An opportunity I am sure Moc will exploit.”

“A good opportunity for us,” Krill said. “That luck of yours is touching us all.”


	8. Chapter 8

_GORNU: FIRST MISSING STORY_

"You don't want to go down to Lira?" Llant replaced her batleth in the wall case.

"No." Ghast sprawled on the floor, breathing hard. "I swear you get quicker every day. I wish I was 10 years younger, to do that speed justice. You aren't going down for pleasure. Don't you ever seek recreation with your own people?"

"I do." Llant wiped sweat from her arms with a gym towel. "We're here because I have business below, but Wolfe would go with you if you want to play. I swear, she almost likes you."

"Lira is a soft planet. Remember what happened last time we stayed at the Taj."

"If Wolfe sees any drunken Nausicans, she'll bring you back to the Star immediately." Llant laughed at the memory.

"If I thought I could find more drunken Nausicans, I might beam down." Ghast snorted. "You need some balance in your life, _thari_. Go drinking and gaming. Get in a brawl, find a man! Even a Klingon warrior knows there is more to life than discipline, fighting and work."

"You're a role model to us all," Llant said with affectionate sarcasm. "See you in the morning."

"Wait." Ghast rolled to his feet. "When you're done with your business, meet me in the aboretum. I'm going to get drunk and watch the fernhair grow to the sounds of a new opera."

"Takworthy will have a fit. She swears you have disrupted the natural growth cycle of most of her plants."

"Pah! Plants thrive on music," Ghast said.

"Her point exactly," Llant said, laughing.

"I'll turn the volume down when you arrive. I want to talk to you."

Llant's laughter vanished, to be replaced with caution. Her worst fear in the last year had been Ghast would become bored with his life on the Star, and decide to move on.

"It will be late," she said.

"I'll be there late," Ghast said. "But my feelings won't be hurt if you decide to stay below and play."

 

Lira's inhabitants remained stylish and decadent, and required constant attention and wit in even the most casual conversation. Llant enjoyed the short meeting with her business contacts, but found she was relieved to finish, decline dinner invitations and return to the Star. She changed into ship's fatigues with a sense of comfort delayed and achieved.

Llant followed the trail through the arboretum, bass Klingon music vibrating under her feet. Ghast was seated with his back against a rock, surrounded by bottles. He waved his arm when he saw her, and the music died to a background rumble.

She picked up a bottle. "What have you been drinking?"

"Star continues my education about the extensive beverage menu. Some of it made me ill, but this is not bad. Too sweet, but an interesting taste."

"Mavrodaphne. Star, did he drink it all, or do we have any left?"

A bottle and chunky glass appeared on the replicator. Llant poured the dark red wine, then took a seat next to Ghast. "You like the color," she accused. She sipped, closed her eyes. "It reminds me of hot summer days and the taste of raisins at picnics."

"Tell me about him, _thari_."

Llant felt her heart plummet toward her knees. She opened her eyes, and considered the old warrior warily. "What are you asking?"

"No words have passed to my ears. Your crew has been very careful. It's in their eyes when they look at me, and in your eyes when you face me on the floor."

Blood heated her face. Llant saw Ghast's sharp eyes assess her reaction.

"I watched how you treated Kion. In spite of the fact I would be pleased to have him as a companion on the Star, you assigned him and Poppy to stay at the colony. You don't like to watch them together, and avoid being in their company. But it is not because you dislike either of them.

"This puzzle took me some time to understand, for the obvious explanation seemed impossible. I've thought about it, and feel you owe me a tale."

Llant took a deep breath. "I was going to tell you, some day." She refilled her glass, and saluted him. "May you die in battle!"

Ghast returned the salute. They emptied their glasses together.

"What does the phrase _ke'tha, ke'san_ mean?" Llant asked finally. There was a dryness in her mouth the wine could not ease.

Ghast raised his eyebrows. "My heart, my breath. Not a phrase used in casual conversation among warriors. Those are words said between lovers."

Llant searched for the way to begin. "It was four years ago. The Star was working with the Tribblion in borderspace. She was transporting colonists, and bulky trade goods to some of the new colonies. It was dangerous, your warbird captains were still a threat, even though the Enterprise and other Federation ships regularly patrolled the area. The Star was working primarily as security escort for the Tribblion, although we hauled our share of cargo.

"Remember when the attempt to sabotage the cultivation of Sherman's Planet was aborted by the Enterprise? For some time afterwards the Feds were cocky, and the Klingons irritated. One of the inadvertent participants in this fiasco was a human freetrader, freeloader, and general burr in the backside, a man named Cyrano Jones. He was a trader in contraband, dealer in tired trinkets. And he was Le'Ling's uncle."

"That would be Captain of the Tribblion?"

Llant nodded, trying to put the story into an understandable framework. "Are you familiar with the events surrounding the Fed claim to Sherman's?"

"I was with the high council at that time. Reports were confusing, I recall. A warbird captain was reprimanded, and there was talk of -- vermin?" Ghast frowned, trying to remember. "That doesn't seem to make much sense."

"Jones had imported an animal that, removed from its natural environment and predators, bred excessively, and dangerously. They infested a space station, the Enterprise, and finally the warbird Gr'oth. Jones was sentenced to cleaning them off the station, but before he could complete the task, the Gr'oth returned and snatched him. The Klingons were furious, infested, and took Jones to get information, and to punish him, I suspect," Llant said.

"Tribbles. I remember." Ghast spat. "They are worse than vermin."

"The space station registered an official complaint: kidnapping of a Federation citizen, family members to be notified. Details were transmitted to Le'Ling. She asked for my help, I agreed. Klingon butchery was still relatively fresh in my mind, and I was foolish enough to consider adding another warbird to my kills."

Llant paused and studied Ghast's face. He watched her through half-lidded eyes, apparently relaxed.

"I saw the vid from Caliban," he said. "We've never spoken of it, but you fought well. There was no dishonor in the way you became _sheld'kaj_."

Llant shook her head. "We got a report on the Gr'oth's probable patrol route, and took the ships to Wrigley's. You've heard of that planet? Replication an art form with them. It's a favored shore leave place for many races. We got . . . lucky. The Enterprise, always poking around that part of space, showed up. And shortly after that, the Gr'oth.

"I think Koloth wanted to taunt Kirk. They hated each other. Surprisingly, I believe James Kirk had some admiration for the other Klingon captains he dealt with. Kor he certainly respected, Kang he almost liked. But Koloth? Personally, I think they were too much alike. Both captains declared they were there for shore leave, and shore leave they would have. It was their right."

"Koloth." Ghast combed his mustache with his fingers, his eyes roaming between the plants. "He is much honored, and extraordinarily well-connected; but I remember him to be irritating and almost humanly sly."

"I have great respect for your opinions, teacher." Llant laughed at his apt description of Koloth. "Le'Ling and the Tribblion crew almost universally chose to participate in shore leave. Wrigley's found itself playing host to the crew of a Federation starship, a Klingon warbird and assorted smugglers. There was surprisingly little in the way of hostilities, the crews either ignored each other or mixed with success."

Llant repeated the word with a hard laugh. "Success. In her quest for Jones, Le'Ling introduced herself to Koloth. I don't know if it was the planet or the people, but they became lovers."

Ghast's eyes returned to her face. "I heard someone joke once about Koloth's wife, but I didn't realize she was human."

"Wife?" Llant shook her head. "I don't know how long they stayed together. I've had no contact with Le'Ling since that time.

"Most of my crew stayed aboard -- I only had a handful then. We monitored the area, I let them go down by twos, if they wanted. Both Star and I were uncomfortable in the proximity of a warbird, and I was angry with Le'Ling for her failure to pursue our mission. The time had come for the Star to find new work, and I had nearly decided the Enterprise would be more than sufficient protection for the Tribblion."

Llant poured more wine. "You said you saw the vid from Caliban. Humans can be good killers, as good or better than Klingons. I've listened to your tales of battle, have seen the rush of power those memories bring to you. I remember war differently. I don't regret the warriors I killed on Caliban. I do regret the warbird. When you confront a human warrior, understand the conflict of instinct and philosophy that drives him."

"I have begun to know you, _thari_ , but understand?" Ghast sighed. "I have come to believe it may be a good thing for the universe that human instinct and philosophy do _not_ mirror each other."

"Are you so sure they don't?" Llant asked, conscious of the underlying bitterness in her question.

Ghast waited for her to continue.

She took a deep breath. "As we waited, Star was boarded by two Klingons from the Gr'oth. They were hoping for a look at the Star's engine room and cloaking equipment. I think they were bored, watching their fellows on shore leave, their captain commanding from planetside, thinking perhaps glory could be achieved under chaotic conditions. We caught them as soon as they materialized. I stunned one as he tried to escape, and dumped him in the brig. The other, I took to my quarters for questioning.

"He was first officer of the Gr'oth. Arrogant, stiff, looking around for the male commander he was sure would come for him after the preliminaries. I had been thinking of Caliban constantly, wondering how a race of murderers thought about their victims, wondering how Klingons viewed life and their journey through it. So I questioned him about being Klingon. His attempt at spying was a minor issue in my mind, I have few fears with Star on constant duty."

Llant listened to the whisper of Klingon opera still playing in the background, and closed her eyes so she didn't have to watch Ghast's face.

"We ended up in bed, by mutual decision and desire. I don't have the words to express what I felt. We touched, and it was like feeling the pieces of a Vulcan geo-puzzle snap into place."

Llant forced herself to open her eyes and look at Ghast. "You've seen how my crew takes care of me. They knew my feelings about Klingons. I went to med bay for a scan. We had taken no precautions, and I knew nothing about biological or physiological antipathies that might exist between us. Carey thought I was deranged. I had considered this possibility, and dismissed it. But she didn't dismiss it as easily as I did. I told her I was returning the captured Klingons planetside, and left Korax with her for a med scan. She didn't stop with a scan."

"Carey?" Ghast rumbled. "You were foolish to leave him alone with her. She's been poking about in my guts since I first came aboard."

"I have become more specific in crew instruction since the incident with Korax," Llant said. "She gave him a hypnotic drug, to see if it would work on Klingons. She asked him a few questions, and suggested he relay Jones' location to me if he could find it. He never realized she had done it. Nor did I."

"Bad," Ghast said. "This would be considered spying. You may not feel strongly about this activity, but his Captain would kill him."

"Very bad, as it turned out," Llant agreed. "We arranged to meet later, and we weren't discreet. We had sex, played in the casinos, drank, watched Wrigley's parade of entertainment, had more sex." She blinked her eyes, and willed herself to be calm. "Have you ever felt joy so intense it was like a knife turning in your chest?"

"Perhaps. During battle," Ghast's face seemed an inscrutable mask. "In a relationship with a female? My chest is not usually the area affected."

Llant laughed, and quickly wiped her eyes. "You're far more sentimental then you like me to see, old warrior. The next morning Shaitan's Arm decloaked. Something was happening in fringe space. I found out later Klingon freighters were being pirated, and the council was furious. Already suspicious of humans, Kor viewed the presence of the three Federation ships with anger and accusation. Both of the Gr'oth's top officers were hauled in for questioning. They had been seen with human women . . . only I was _sheld'kaj_ , so Korax drew time under the sifter."

Ghast grunted and shook his head. "They found out about the drug."

"Yes. And Carey's suggestion he locate Jones for us. But something happened, and Kor went screaming away from Wrigley's like a nightflit, leaving Koloth new orders, and a death sentence for Korax. He told me on Wrigley's. He'd managed to escape from the Gr'oth's sickbay in the confusion.

"Korax was still drugged, moving as if it hurt to breathe. He said he understood that my interest had been motivated by a search for information." Llant stopped, cleared her throat. "I haven't discussed this with anyone since it happened."

"Star! Another bottle!" Ghast rose and collected the wine. He refilled their glasses, resting his hand on her shoulder for a brief moment. "They came for him."

"Almost immediately." Llant took a long drink of wine. "Two warriors broke the door in, and he went without argument. Fortunately one of the warriors was his friend, and told me what had happened, what would happen. He also told me the only possible way to circumvent Korax' death sentence."

"Honor-amend service? You would have had the resources to pay for such an arrangement," Ghast mused. "Not many warriors do. If Kor had stayed, he would have had no chance. But Koloth -- yes."

"Koloth did agree to help, after I insulted him, threatened him with wraith-oath, bribed and generally bullied him. Star latinum bought Korax a new name and post, and a sincere wish from Koloth that we should take ourselves to another part of the universe. He left the responsibility of transporting Korax to his new post with me.

"I hoped Korax would talk to me when the drugs wore off. I didn't know what I could offer him, but I would have tried anything he suggested. But he wouldn't talk to me. He said under Klingon law he couldn't talk to me, and couldn't -- wouldn't touch me."

Llant stopped to watch water drip from the fernhair onto the stones at their roots. It was almost over. She continued in a rush of words. "I left him with a Patjik freetrader deep in the Bergen, who carried him the final distance to his new post. I didn't want him arriving on the Star, and jeopardizing his standing with his new officers. I thought I wanted to die. My crew will explain, if asked, that I looked for death, and took them along for the ride. This is one of the reasons they were less than welcoming when I brought you aboard. They have reason to fear my involvement with Klingons."

The opera had finished. Llant sat and listened to the sound of water falling over stone.

"He is why you seek to understand Klingon culture, have applied yourself with such concentration to our exercises. Do you understand what happened, Llant'Gornu?" Ghast's voice was contemplative, almost gentle.

The sound of his voice almost undid her. The combination of compassion and too much wine was breaking the barrier of control she kept around the old sense of loss. "I have theorized, but understand?" Llant said carefully. "I have never before failed to convince a man about my feelings. I was helpless, afraid and completely unable to accept his rejection. I have never experienced such total failure."

Ghast stretched and groaned. "That is good wine, and I'm getting tired and drunken. But I think I can help you understand some things." He stood, took several deep breaths and loosened the muscles in his arms and shoulders. "I need to find myself a young wife with a talent for massage. I had planned to retire when I reached 100, and do this. Retirement has come early, and I begin to look forward to seeing the new colony. I am not too old to found a family."

Llant shut her mouth when she realized he was grinning at her idiotic expression. "Just trying to imagine you as a father, old warrior."

"What am I now?" Ghast stood over her, grinning evilly. "Have you ever had dealings with the Klingon mindsifter?"

"No." Llant pointed at his chair. "Sit down. I feel like you're challenging me in that stance."

"I am." Ghast backed off slowly, holding her eyes. He leaned back against the stack of boulders near the replicator. "Your officer was fortunate in many ways. Out of ten men taken to the sifter -- for any length of time! -- five are completely unminded; three have severe and permanent brain damage; one has minor damage that may cause physical impairment; and one emerges with trauma and psychological scarring.

"So if your description is accurate, Korax was the lucky one in ten. He would experience physical pain, and aberrant sleep patterns for an indeterminate amount of time. If his interrogators attempted to persuade him of his stupidity and guilt while under the sifter, he would not be able to separate their comments from reality. I know the drugs they use in combination with the sifter, none are kind to the victim. If they gave him a broad spectrum antidote, to counteract the hypnotic agent, he would have felt very ill indeed! I have seen men die from the antidote."

"But he would have recovered from the effects of both sifter and drugs?" Llant asked.

"Yes. Eventually." Ghast began working at crumbling bits of stone under his fingers as he continued. "Know that they would never believe you cared for him, _thari_. Three years ago, I wouldn't have believed it. The only explanation they could accept was that you used Korax as a tool, and if he thought otherwise he was obviously drugged, and criminally stupid.

"The fact that Koloth cooperated with you so quickly and so well tells another story. I have no doubt he took your threats seriously, but he must have known Korax had behaved as a warrior. He had reason to believe such a relationship could exist between a Klingon and human, and knew Korax worthy of the escape offered by honor-amend."

"He said . . . I made him ill. He said he couldn't even speak with me."

"Why Korax refused to speak with you --" Ghast shook his head. He frowned, squinted at her and made a small growling sound deep in his throat. "Did he ever ask you to perform a Klingon ritual with him?"

"Ritual? Oh. The night we spent on Wrigley's. He said it was an expression of mutual regard between Klingon couples." The memory surfaced clearly, and she shivered. "He seemed quite insistent until I repeated the words, then he didn't refer to it again."

" _jIH dok._ Was this phrase used?" Ghast's voice was lower and deeper.

"Yes. And _maj dok._ " The expression on the old Klingon's face brought her to her feet.

"You know enough to translate the words. What are they?"

"Our blood, my blood?" Llant swallowed against a knot in her throat. "An odd expression of affection. It sounds more like an acknowledgment of family ties than lover's words."

" _tlinghan jIH._ We are Klingon. It is indeed an acknowledgment of family." The crinkled corners of Ghast's eyes puckered as he smiled. "You're his wife. You spoke the oath with him, the short form of the ceremony that binds mates."

His smile faded. "He should have told you. He must have loved you very much, this ritual is not taken lightly. When Klingons mate, it is often for life. Divorce does occur, but it is rare. It explains why he wouldn't speak with you before he left. A warrior working toward honor-amend must be separate from his family, if he wishes a chance to reclaim his lands, and spare his family loss of status. He didn't know what you really felt, didn't know what was before him in his new post. His name was not his own, his rank was the lowest possible. He was mentally and physically ill.

"He must have been very brave. I suspect leaving you may have been nearly impossible for him, even damaged by the sifter." Ghast said, looking away from her toward the fernhair.

"And I let him go. I thought he despised me."

"Would you have the courage to face him again? He has had -- how long? four years to think about what happened. He may have reached the conclusion that no land is involved, and Klingon law need not apply to a human wife, who has no status in our society. He will have four years of honorable service behind him." Ghast met her eyes again, and his voice rang with challenge. "Four years of remembering what it was to love the warrior woman he oath-bound himself to."

"Go back to Agab?" Llant shook her head. "You know I'm not a coward, but I don't think I can do that again."

"If he had been serious about removing you from his life, he would have spoken the words of divorce before he left you. Did he hit you?" Ghast asked.

"No! Why would he hit me?"

"It's part of the divorce ritual," Ghast shrugged. "You have a warrior's spirit, and you do have the bravery to risk this. I see little risk in it, anyway. After four years, he should be horny enough to be reasonable."

"Ghast! Don't go to Morgan for informal language lessons." Llant felt the blood rush to her face. "Thank you for all your teaching and council." She took a deep breath. "At your recommendation, we will return to Agab."

"If I were 20 years younger, I would offer to slice him and assume the duties of husband." Ghast laughed at her startled expression. "I know an oath-bound woman when I see one, I am honored to be your teacher, _thari_. I hope for your happiness."

"I will be telling Wolfe this was your idea." Llant stepped toward him with her hand extended. "It's my great honor to have you for a teacher. Now, I'm modestly drunk. Is this a good time to share the words of _Kahless in Stovokor_ with the rest of the crew, over the com?"

Ghast took her hand, roaring with approving laughter.


	9. Chapter 9

_KORAX: ON EEV_

“I think they’re all dead.” Krill grimaced, holding a limp furred body in a leather-gloved hand. “Nasty thing tried to bite me through the glove.”

Korax itched at his own bandaged arm. “The harmonic amplifier worked?”

“Cooked their brains!” Krill said with relish. “I have the men collecting the bodies, but inevitably there will be some left in the walls of this fine establishment.”

“You’re telling me it could stink for a while. Not a bad trade. I was tired of being bitten in my sleep.”

“I have Keiv and Dorin building a permanent, low energy harmonic barrier about the entire building, as part of our security system.”

“It was thoughtful of Moc to include some trained officers in the new crew,” Korax said. “Dump the corpse. Arath, Lyn and Teig are in my office, waiting to plan the first tour.”

“We should be out by now.” Krill tossed the body onto a pile of vermin a crewman was wheeling off to incinerate. “We’ll need to hustle to meet Moc’s first quota.”

 

“Captain Kendal!” Arath greeted him as they entered the office, getting stiffly to his feet. The other warriors followed his example.

“Sit,” Korax motioned Krill to the last empty chair, and seated himself behind the battered desk. “Krill and Arath will captain the miners on this tour, with Lyn and Teig as seconds. Your crews will be an equal mix drawn at random from the remaining men.

“We’ve been speaking with some of the friendlier miners in port city. It seems there's plenty of moderate grade ore to be swept up and carted back in relatively close proximity to Eev. That’s what we’re after this first tour. You’ll have 15 days to mine, and return with full holds. I want you to stay on adjacent courses, and maintain contact.

“While you’re in the rock, we’ll try to find out more about area miners and politics. Take extra precautions not to infringe on other miners’ space. You’re Klingon, you don’t have to go out of your way to be intimidating. Do the work, get back to port. Questions?”

“You want us to stay away from the big rocks?” Arath asked.

“Don’t seek them out. If you find one, use your judgment.”

Arath nodded.

“Dismissed, then. Krill, stay.” Korax watched the others leave. “I need you here, but it’s important the men don’t perceive you're getting preferential treatment.”

“I understand.”

“And I want you to take the Frar, and Arath the Fleist on first tour.”

“Merde.” Krill made a face. “You’re the captain.”

Korax laughed at him. “You’ll live. She’s a far different ship, now. And Teig? You experience no problems with him?”

“He’s surly, and devoted to being a young warrior, but he obeys orders, and has no animosity toward me.” Krill chuckled. “That batleth exhibition you staged at our last outdoor exercise session on Agab seems to have quieted remarks concerning _don’hel_ warriors.”

Korax nodded. “You're still a master. I want you to train the men when we get regular schedules established. They need to stay fit, and find more ways to expend energy. I don’t want them living in Eev-prime every off-duty second.”

“Good luck. Bars, gaming houses, females, slari-races -- it’s a different, better world, Kendal!”

“So it is, but I won’t have inebriated crewmen returned by local authorities like dead gaghk on a plate. We're Klingon, we deserve respect.” Korax sighed, brushed at a pile of wood dust. “Get Arath and run your inventory checks. I have a lot of work to do.”

Krill saluted. “When I return the air should be much fresher.” He smirked, “You’re stuck with housekeeping detail, you realize.”

“Keiv has some experience as a structural engineer. Quarters should be more habitable by the time you return. Watch out for hot rock, my friend!”


	10. Chapter 10

_WOLFE: THIS FOOLISH JOURNEY_

“We’ve got a ship full of cargo, an inexperienced crew, and you encourage her to head into a sensitive part of the Bergen. We’re almost less welcome there now than we were before.”

Wolfe faced Ghast on the gym floor.

“You’re thinking about it. Do your lungs think before you breathe?” Ghast roared, jabbing at her.

Wolfe met his jab and barely deflected it. “She’s been almost herself lately, and I thank you for that. Why go looking for more trouble?”

Ghast grounded his batleth. “Practice over. You need to concentrate on the exercises. More time in the morning, Wolfe, if you want to hold that weapon with any skill.”

“Want to fence? I’ll trim your beard.”

“Not now, I have better things to do. You’re going to have to accept this, all of you.” Ghast returned the weapons to their cases.

“This foolish journey?”

“No. You humans are so stubborn. They're mated. She will not forget that, no matter how much time passes, how much challenge I throw at her body. She will not be the woman you remember until she finds him again. The fact her entire crew pretends otherwise is not a kindness to her. You all accept the mating between Kion and Poppy.”

“Kion is likeable. Korax was essence of Klingon.” Wolfe made a face at him, stretched into cool-down exercises. “My mind knows the value of your words, if my heart is reluctant to acknowledge them.”

Ghast snorted. “I’m sick of ship life, I want dirt under my feet again. I'll be as glad as the rest of you to settle on the colony. I want to run in mud, stalk something at night.”

“Big game animals aren’t in the plan, so far -- but there’s more than enough mud. You’d stay with us?” Wolfe was curious. “I'd be glad. You are family to her, now.”

“A strange place for an old warrior to retire. And stranger still, there is a young crewwoman I have my eye on.”

“Lucky woman. Does she know?” Wolfe teased. “One of the Circians? They seem very respectful around you.”

“Too respectful. A warrior wants a little spirit in his wife.”

“Ghast, come to the bridge.” Llant’s voice interrupted Wolfe’s next question.

They looked at the wall com, then at each other.

“We should be nearly there. She’ll want you with her.”

“Ayiah. Think about what I said, Wolfe.”

 

 _GORNU: AGAB_

“This is a nasty place.”

Agab welcomed them with wintry slush and stinging ice crystals as they exited the port building. The old Ba’iel who officially registered their presence seemed half-witted and uninterested in their existence. He responded to questions about Klingons with a shrug, and pointed in the direction of more buildings.

There had been no Klingon life signs on Allallu’s scan, no other orbiting ships.

“That looks like a bar. Try there,” Ghast directed.

They left the sleet behind and stepped into a dim, dirty bar. It was empty. Broken down tables and rickety chairs huddled like skeletons in the corners. Another Ba’iel sat behind the bar, reading.

“You’d think he’d jump to greet customers,” Llant muttered. She hit the bar, jarring his head in her direction. “You have a Klingon mining post here? Are they out in the Bergen?” she pushed a quarter slug of latinum in front of him.

He looked at her, blankly, then scooped the latinum under the counter. “They left. Been several cycles since I’ve seen one.”

Ghast loomed over the bar. “Where did they go?”

The Ba’iel shrugged. “No one cared.”

Ghast reached to finger the man’s collar. “Do you know anyone we can ask?”

“Try the hospitality house, far side of town.” The tender scrambled off his stool and backed away from them. “They might know. Klingons liked it there.”

They found the house with some difficulty. Its identifying markers had been partially dismantled and the windows were shuttered. Ghast pounded at the door.

“Nisha, nisha.” The door opened a crack. “By Kahless, a Klingon!” The door opened wider. “Come in, the wind is chill tonight, warrior.”

She was a Circian, older, but plain good humor lit her face. “I’ve missed Klingons around here. My two partners moved on. Ba’iel are miserable customers. You’ve got a human chick with you! Not much I can offer you she couldn’t. Drugs, maybe.”

“We’re here for information.” Ghast took the woman’s hand and pressed a slug into her palm. “We’re looking for news of the Klingon post that was here.”

“Don’t know where they went, off into the Bergen. Took a second ship with them, looking for a better base, no doubt.”

“Does anyone have more information? Are there any officials we could speak with?”

“Not many officials hereabouts. Ba’iel was contracted to service the ship, but he hated Klingons. They got wise to his cheating. That Captain Kendal lifted two shield generators from his shop, just after he got here. Ba’iel never forgot that.” She chuckled. “Made him work for his credits. Everyone enjoyed that story.”

“Kendal was the commanding officer?” Llant asked in amazement.

“Garat it was, the old one. Died of the lung sickness over a year ago. Young miner captain got promoted. I remember the warriors celebrated.”

“You can’t be responsible for a post without at least the rank of captain-second,” Ghast said to Gornu. “Is this your officer? To be promoted from warrior-third to captain-second in under four years? That is amazing indeed.”

“Kendal was the name on the orders,” she said numbly.

“Did Kendal come here?” Ghast asked.

“Oh yes. Kept an eye on his warriors, kept them in line. We had a holoroom then. The others took it with them,” she said sadly. “He’d drink here, but nothing else.”

“The Ba’iel with the service contract, where could we find him?”

“Out in the habits. He’s rarely here any more. One of the sons took over the shop.”

Ghast looked around the neat, bare rooms. “Do you have anything to drink? And a place we can sit down?”

She bustled around, happy. “Come in here, it’s warm and snug. I’ve got a few bottles of that whiskey left. The young captain liked to drink it.” She produced a bottle and glasses, set it on a low table in front of a musty-smelling lounge.

Ghast gave her another latinum slug. “We’d like to talk for a while.”

“Take your time. I’ll leave you alone.” She smiled knowingly, closed the door as she left.

Llant watched Ghast pour the amber liquid. “I should have come sooner.”

“I regret I have no contacts left with the council. I’m sorry, _thari_. But you know that he is alive and has prospered. Captain-second is equivalent to commander-second. One step away from retiring his honor-amend service! This is extraordinary. He must have Shaitan’s own luck.”

Llant took a halfhearted swallow of whiskey, made a face. “He said that, once.”

“They are mining somewhere in the Bergen. You have sources of information.”

“Yes.” Llant was focused on something far away. “But I think if I was meant to face him, I would have found him here. It will have to be enough to know he's doing well, that my actions didn’t cause permanent hardship.”

“So you'll turn the Star away from Agab, and he'll be in the past?” Ghast pulled her face around, forced her to meet his eyes. “You'll kill yourself, unless you deal with this thing. I have a suggestion. You've done well in training. There's a ritual Shahar endure during their apprenticeship, usually as young men. I never thought to take the road again, I haven't trained a youngster in many years. There is a planet, near homeworld, called D’sari.”


	11. Chapter 11

**YEAR FOUR, THIRD CYCLE, ON EEV**

 _KORAX: CAPTAIN FIRST_

Moc brushed his finger idly over the desk’s gleaming surface. He surveyed the room, noting the new lighting, computer panels, and the clean latex panels that covered the old plasteel walls.

“They’re transferring the ore. Well done. Every time we come I'm amazed at the work you've accomplished. Nothing exciting in the Bergen this cycle?”

Korax stood as Moc cruised around the room genially examining the improvements. _Razorfin,_ he thought.

“Nothing special yet. It may offer some superb hauls, farther in. Local miners trade in every precious stone, and great chunks of latinum-bearing rock seem to occur fairly frequently. There’s only one major mining concern, and they concentrate on a defined area of the Holley Rings. I see no need to conflict with their operations.”

“Demand for raw ore is increasing at home. We are expanding, building. Personnel is also being redeployed, as relations with the Federation change. I’m taking the last of the military base personnel off Eev when I go. The post has been reassigned.” Moc handed him a computer slate. “You will be the Klingon presence here now, with duties and responsibilities of a field commander. Since no officer less than commander first-class may hold this position, and because there are two ships in your care, you have been promoted again, to captain first-class.”

Moc watched his face. “Yes. It’s an unusual promotion, but you've worked very hard. This retires your honor-amend service, does it not? I believe your rank was commander-first, previously. On the warbird Gr'oth? I was finally able to uncover additional information about your past, although the details of your transgression appear to have disappeared into a black hole.” Moc smiled, a sinister expression. “Koloth is an interesting warrior, extraordinarily well-connected -- for a Klingon who has taken a human wife.”

Korax nodded. “I have had no communication with him since I left the Gr'oth, but it doesn't surprise me that he took the oath with Captain Le’Ling.”

Moc’s eyebrows rose. “I've also received a promotion. I am captain-elite, now. The council is very appreciative of my efforts. Politics on homeworld have been interesting lately. This growing interaction with the Federation is the source of much speculation, both philosophical and financial.”

“And what houses do our efforts here sustain during this debate?”

Moc scrutinized him slowly, thoroughly. “We work for the empire.”

“Of course.” Korax’ expression was as neutral as Moc’s. “As captain-first, I may issue field promotions?”

“Yes. Subject to my review.”

“Some of the third-class warriors have been training to fill more responsible positions on the miners. They have earned second-class designation. And my command crews deserve promotion as well.”

“Give me their names, I will register them at Fleeisa. I suppose you have a list of supplies you want.”

“And personnel. Send some females, and support staff. I need another construction engineer, and a machinist.”

“I’ll see.” Moc said. “Find me some of those latinum chunks, and I’ll send you a hold full of females.”

“Please, not that many!” Korax managed to smile back, although his mouth felt stiff.

“You and Krill may not be interested in Klingon females,” Moc said, his eyes shrewdly observing. “But I imagine the rest of the crew would be appreciative. I’ll communicate the promotions after your next run. Good mining, captain.”


	12. Chapter 12

**YEAR FIVE AFTER WRIGLEY**

 _WOLFE: THANKS FOR THE RESPONSIBILITY_

“Ghast assures me I’ll see you again, but this feels like a last farewell.” Wolfe faced her captain in the transporter room. Llant and Ghast looked so eager to be gone, it twisted the knot of apprehension in her stomach even tighter. “And thanks for the responsibility of getting Star out and back into the heart of Klingon space.”

“We got here with no trouble. Star will protect you. They’ll never know we’ve been near. Six weeks, Wolfe. We’ll be waiting for pickup at the coordinates Ghast gave you.”

Deciding that protocol could go to hell, Wolfe put her arms around Llant and hugged her. “You think you’ll really travel that far -- on foot -- in six weeks? You are not a Klingon warrior, as tough as you are. I am very worried,”

Llant hugged her back. "You must think I'm going to die. Do you really imagine Ghast won't bring us both back?"

Wolfe let go and backed off, slightly embarrassed by her own depth of emotion. "Even Ghast has his limits."

Ghast clasped her shoulder. “I’ll take care of her, Wolfe. Transport us now, while space is clear. Patrols pass this place routinely, and it's not unusual for hunters or trainers to appear in a cloaked ship.”

They stood on the transporter.

“Star, work with Sheila and take care of my crew. Energize.”

Sheila’s fingers responded slowly as she stared at her captain, cloaked in sand-colored garments.

When they were gone, Wolfe took a deep breath and sank her hand into the H'russ panel on the transporter. “I feel abandoned,” she said to Star and Shelia, “and very afraid for her.”

 _She will be well. Let's return to the colony. We should respect her wishes, and my instincts. There are other ships, not too distant. Swift retreat would be advisable._

“Take us home, then.”

Sheila touched Wolfe’s arm. “I’ll be on the bridge until we’re out of Klingon space. Go talk to Carey, take a nap. Try to relax. We have to work and wait. I trust him, Wolfe. None of us have been able to help her. But I think Ghast can.”

“I trust him too.” Wolfe sighed. "It's the rest of the Empire I distrust."

 

 _GORNU: THE WARRIOR'S ROAD_

They materialized in blowing sand, by a great rock. Billows of yellow, gritty material obscured the landscape, and the grey Klingon characters cut into the surface of the looming monolith seemed to pulse through the clouds.

Enter and despair, like the sentinel to a gateway in hell, Llant thought. She covered her nose with a gauzy fold of the cloak and faced Ghast. He nodded at her action, pointed westward.

Llant followed him into the storm.

“D’sari ranges from low to deep desert terrain. We will take one of the roads commonly used as first journey for young warriors, and avoid the deep desert. Cloak and waterskin, d’ktagh and batleth are our only baggage. Wells occur every twenty miles or so. Most of the vegetation is edible and has high water content. Sand slizzards are frequent, nasty tempered, and can be eaten,” Ghast had explained on the Star, tracing the route he planned to take on a holomap. “The Shahar use these roads as conditioning exercises, a time for the apprentice to focus on control of body and spirit.”

“Hiking, foraging, fighting,” she had said.

“Ayiah.”

The clouds were hypnotic. Llant followed Ghast’s lead, alternatively walking and jogging for what seemed like an eternity. Gradually the sand settled and the ground was visible under fading light. Desolate, scrub covered hills stretched to meet the yellow horizon. They paused, and Ghast motioned her to drink some water.

“We'll speak Klingon in this place. Try to think it as well. Your body must get used to less of everything, but dehydration must be avoided. I am too old to carry you through the desert, _thari_ , so you must evaluate your physical condition without false pride and tell me if your body has reached its limits.” Ghast covered his face and they set off again.

Night settled over the sand. The winds slowly died to a whisper. As the sky cleared, bright constellations appeared and it grew cold. Llant was tired and hungry, but the jogging kept her warm enough. By the time they found the rock sign Ghast sought, her mind was blank, her legs tingling.

Ghast inspected the area. “Always look for wildlife. This is the best shelter we’ll get tonight. Keep one hand on your d’ktagh.” He sat with his back to the towering stone, pulled his cloak around his head. “Sit next to me.”

Llant eased her weary body to the ground and sighed. “I’m hungry. And cold. I suppose morning is your remedy for these things?”

“I admire intelligence in females. Also reticence. Quiet, now. Sleep.”

Llant butted up against his shoulder, tucked her cloak in to seal out the chill air. She thought of several retorts, but closed her eyes. Sleep came at once.

 

“Massage your legs when you wake and do your training exercises.” Ghast stood over her, outlined in a yellow cloud of sand-colored daylight. “That was the only short leg of this road. The rest are longer between markers. We should reach the first well by midday if we run well, and perhaps find something to eat on the way.” Ghast walked off into the sand.

Llant took his advice. She stretched and massaged her legs, then dropped her cloak and began the exercises. When she had finished other morning necessities she tied the cloak back into place and sat patiently waiting for Ghast. Her stomach complained and she took a small drink of water.

“This will help.” He appeared through the dust, greenish-grey sticks in hand. “Bite them open, suck out the pulp.”

The shredded plants were sweet and cool, and reminded Llant of cucumber pulp. Not much of a breakfast, she thought, resolved to offer no word of complaint.

Ghast offered his hand. “Time to run.”

The sand was endless, her body hurt, and it was only the first day. Llant thought she would adjust -- if she lived. Ghast's stamina amazed her. Ninety-eight years old, and he seemed to find the running effortless.

The image of a courtyard on Vulcan surfaced from somewhere deep in her memory. The air was cool, and a water fountain filled the air with gentle chords. It was the reception where she had first met Starr. The musicians had been superb, she remembered, and the company exciting.

She didn't often think of Starr. It was the land, it was like Vulcan. Llant wondered if Starr was still on earth. He would be amused to know she was running in the desert with a Klingon. And his analysis of the reason would piss her off.

They found the well soon after midday. Llant collapsed gratefully on sheltering stone that surrounded the cool, dark opening. Ghast lowered a container, brought up a bucket of water. He sniffed it, tasted it.

“Water is generally good here, but a warrior is careful.” He filled their skins with fresh water, patted some onto his face and hands.

“Wash if you wish. I know how humans feel about bathing.”

Llant washed her face, neck and hands, longing for a shower.

“We did well this far, but need to rest here a while.” Ghast leaned back against the rock wall. “I'm old, and out of condition. This will put us behind, but it is easier to run at night. With any luck we'll find a slizzard sunning itself today.”

“I could eat a slizzard,” Llant decided. “You put me to shame, old warrior. If you’re out of condition, what am I?”

“Tough for a human. But we’ll both be tougher before the end of the road. Quiet now, and rest.”

It was an endless afternoon. By twilight they were both walking doggedly, heads down against the blowing grit. They had seen no sign of animal life. Llant’s stomach still complained at intervals.

“I’d eat more of that cactus.” She moved to Ghast’s side.

“You’d regret it.” His face was obscured by the cloak, but Llant saw the amusement in his eyes. “Your gut would rebel, and that would make running even more uncomfortable.”

“So where are these slizzards?”

“Too windy. They like the sun.” He pointed up the trail. “Rocks.”

The wind died as they leaned against the stone and drank some water.

“Most nights are like this.” Ghast stoppered his flask. “Quiet, clear.”

“How much further?”

“Another hour or two.” The Klingon stretched with a great groan. “Walk beside me. It's easier to talk now. Let me tell you about the food chain on this planet. The largest predator is a beast that feeds mostly on slizzard. It smells bad. You will know immediately if one is stalking us. Zaldac’s have many sharp teeth and move quickly, but are not tenacious beasts. They can be dispatched with batleth.”

“Do any predators move at night?”

“There are many night birds, none large enough to bother us.” Ghast stopped suddenly. “Are you limping?"

“Maybe a little.” Llant was defensive. “I think I have a blister.”

Ghast’s eyes searched the darkened landscape. “Over here.” He found a low cactus, hacked several large pieces from its side. “Spread your cloak on that rock. Take off your boots.”

Llant bit her tongue and obeyed his directions.

Ghast inspected her feet. “How do you run on these fragile things?” He began crushing pulp, massaging the juice into her feet and lower legs.

“Merde!” Llant felt tears come to her eyes.

“Speak Klingon. I know it hurts. It will feel better.” Ghast continued the treatment. He took a wad of leftover fibers, packed them against the raw area on her foot. “Replace your clothing and change places with me.”

Llant began laughing. “You only wanted a foot massage! How do you lift these great horny things to run?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve guarded your tongue -- so far. Continue to think before you speak.” Ghast’s face was shadowed, his head a dark silhouette against the sky. “You do that well, your hands and arms are strong for a weak, human female.”

She made a rude noise. “Put your boots back on, old warrior. I'm eager to reach our stopping place. If I can’t eat, I want to sleep.”

“Your feet?”

“Feel better already.”

They found the trail again, walking side by side. “Sing to me,” Ghast ordered. “First act from _The Precipice at Gar’Duluk_.”

“Only a Klingon would wish to augment the pain of sore feet with a foray into opera.”

“If you don’t sing, I will.”

Llant took a deep breath, filled her lungs, and began to sing.

 

She was hungry and her entire body ached. Even her scalp throbbed.

Llant woke slowly, realizing Ghast’s sturdy shoulder had just disappeared. It was fully light.

She stretched, cursing in Klingon as her legs complained at the movements. Her water flask was nearly empty, and she took only a swallow although she longed to finish it. She found a nearby cactus and sliced off a small piece to suck on.

“How are your feet?” Ghast reappeared, dusty and grinning.

“A little sore.” She removed her boots, inspected the blisters. “Looking better.”

“Cut some more of that cactus, rub it into your feet and legs again.”

He began to follow his own advice. “We'll find another well soon. And we'll eat today.”

“Good plan.” Llant felt snappish. “I hate being dirty far more than I hate being hungry, and right now I’m both.”

“You are distracted by nonessential luxuries. Humans are only one of many species who regard submersion in water with an almost religious intensity.”

“Damn right.” Llant replaced her boots with a grimace. “Whining over, great warrior.”

“Good.” Ghast stood, towering above her. “This is more than a test of endurance. The spirit of a warrior rises above physical and emotional stresses.”

Llant tied her cloak into place. “This road of yours doesn’t include mind-altering drugs around a campfire, does it?”

Ghast snorted. “You are so human at times. If you feel good enough to make jokes, you can find and kill the slizzard. Now, let us run.”

 

It was the second week on the trail. She had been running forever.

Each morning and evening they moved through the exercise forms without fighting. Llant had progressed to adult level and could now follow Ghast’s routine with ease.

They became attuned to each other, physically and mentally as their existence narrowed to the basics of survival. Jogging over the gravel and sand, they moved side by side. Ghast’s legs were longer, but Llant carried less mass, and they automatically adjusted to their differences.

Head high desert-type succulents filled the area the trail wound through, and slizzards and the ground insects Ghast called _sanburris_ were plentiful.

“They sting and leave a nasty sore. And they often sting when you sit down, so clear the area before you plant your backside.”

One had demonstrated this ability by catching him on the outer thigh one evening. He treated the area with a compress of cactus, but Llant could see it was painful, and hampered his running on the next day.

“Let’s walk for a while.” She slowed. “I can’t carry you, either. I’m not sure about the antiseptic properties of cactus, and you wouldn’t let me bring a med kit. Remember what you told me about false pride?”

Ghast grunted, but slowed. “You've always listened to me with great attention. So when I hear my own words coming back at me, I can't ignore them. The area should be less inflamed by morning. We'll have to run longer tomorrow.”

“Make it the day after tomorrow, old warrior.”

“Kahless is teaching me patience at the end of my life,” Ghast growled.

“Is it a hard lesson for a Klingon?”

“It's not a common strength in warriors,” he admitted. “But we understand that it can add polish to the accomplishments of a successful warrior.”

It was a windless day. Their sand cloaks were folded and tied with the water flasks at their sides.

“Your skin is darker.”

“It’s mostly dirt.” Llant grinned at him. “Although the sun is responsible for some of it.” She stretched her arms skyward, filled her lungs and cried a challenge across the desert.

“I regret the insect bite. I, too, feel like fighting.”

“I find it incredible, that I could feel this good.” Llant watched her teacher from the corner of her eye. “How many times have you done this? Trained a warrior on a road such as this?”

Ghast walked in silence for several minutes. “This is the fifteenth time I've walked the road alone with a student. I have wondered where the other fourteen are now, what they're doing. How they have fared in our changing times.”

“Before Driin, did you have contact with them?”

“Some of them. Shahar are not assigned in large numbers at any single place. There are too few of us. My students are scattered all over the empire.”

“They are all Shahar?”

“Ten of them.” Ghast was quiet again.

“What made them Shahar? Living through a field trip with you?” Llant stopped as he growled. “I'm really interested, and phrased myself poorly.”

Ghast studied her, face stern. “You can learn to control your tongue, if not your thoughts. Perhaps you will learn what made them Shahar. Perhaps not.”

“I'm human.” She fell into step beside him again, speaking standard for the first time in many days. “This is not an excuse, it's what I am. Being human -- or Klingon -- or Vulcan – or anything else -- is only the foundation of what we are in total. I have great respect for you, and a feeling that is deeper than affection. But Ghast, although I may finally reach the place where I'm a warrior in your eyes, I will always be a cheeky human warrior.”

Ghast snorted. “You are already a warrior, _thari_. And cheeky, without doubt.”

 

On the morning of their fourteenth day on the trail, he uncased his batleth.

“You run well. Show me how you fight in sand.”

She met his training routine confidently, wary of the surface underfoot, wary of the look on his face as the routine ended and the fighting continued. He halted when they were both breathing hard, straining to extract oxygen from the sandy air.

“Your form is good, but I haven't tried to kill you yet.” Ghast prepared to leave, watching her quietly mimic his activity. “I tell you I will try, but you're human. You don't believe I would carry such a thing to its natural conclusion. This is a weakness.”

“You underestimate my judgment.” Llant cased her weapon. She squinted at him through the blowing sand. “You won't kill me. You’ve only cut me a few times, and never badly. You could have.”

“I've never treated you more gently because of your species -- or sex. You have never been badly cut because you have always paid attention, and moved quickly. But dueling is one thing; fighting for your life is another. On this road you must fight for your life.”

Llant stood, covered her face. “You’re wasting energy. Let’s run.”

 

The interminable running was now broken, morning and evening, with fighting. They no longer noticed any impediment from the sandy ground as they fought, and Llant realized her arms were stronger as Ghast forced her to stand and defend herself from intense, focused attacks.

She became expert at finding slizzards in protected rock nooks, killing and skinning them. And since enough brush for fire-making was rare, she also became resigned to eating them raw.

Every night Ghast would recite a new story, illustrations of Klingon honor, strength and ethical conduct. Llant often fell asleep before he finished, her head on his shoulder, and would have to listen to the same story again in the morning, as they ran. As D’sari crawled under their feet, her mind gradually centered on her environment, her companion, and her physical needs. The Star, her crew, any other existence seemed dreamlike. Existence was running and fighting.

They reached the three-quarters point of their road exactly on schedule, a few hours before Ghast had projected. The faintly marked dirt trail they had been following led them into a small, rock enclosed amphitheater. A stone pool lay at its center, ringed by old fire-pits and roughly hewn paving stones. Ghast examined the area thoroughly.

“This place is an axis for four roads, but no recent travelers have made a fire.”

“I’ll find a slizzard, if you’ll find fuel.” Llant gestured with her d’ktagh.

“Try the rocks to the east.”

They cooked the slizzard she caught over a small fire. It wasn’t delicious, but it was a welcome change from raw flesh.

“Could I bathe in that pool?” Llant asked.

“Creatures will water there tonight,” Ghast said. “Perhaps in the morning.”

The stars spread above them in cold splendor as night brought its usual calmness to D’sari’s terrain.

“You’re fighting well, how do you feel?”

“My stomach seems to have grown accustomed to cactus and slizzard, if my palate lags behind. I feel fit, strong, and rested in spite of our hard traveling.”

“Good. What do you think of while we run?”

Llant looked at him sideways. “Usually . . . nothing. It's enough to watch the land, and listen to my heart beat.” Her eyes glinted with mischief as she regarded him across the small fire. “And, to tell the truth, I ponder your stories. It's still difficult for me to accept some of your philosophies, but my understanding has grown.”

“You will never be Klingon.” Ghast poked a stick into the coals. “Nor should you try to be. But you are a warrior, and kin to us in spirit, or we wouldn't be on this road together. Tonight you must tell me a story, in the warrior’s tradition.”

“A story?” She moved uneasily. “I have few that would fit that tradition.”

“You know the tale you must tell.” Ghast sat motionless on the opposite side of the fire, eyes gleaming red in the moving light. “And you knew I would ask for it.”

Llant stood, staring into the fire. “I can’t speak Klingon for this.”

“Tell me.”

“After I tell you this, there is nothing you will not know about me that matters,” Llant said tightly. “I’m not sure I want you to know me that well.”

“Tell me.”

She bowed her head and remembered. “I first heard of the planet Caliban from a friend during my academy days.”

 

When Llant finished, she sat back by the fire, reliving the emotion she had felt when leaving the remaining colonists. “They were bereft, without understanding. And I didn't feel the scales had been balanced by the Klingon lives we had taken. I think I mourned most for justice. I had begun to know justice is not meted out equally, or always in a way or time that is understandable.”

“You fought well, with honor.” Ghast stood in the firelight. “That was a good story, and you did not fall asleep in the telling.” He dropped his cloak onto the rock, and hefted his batleth into the air.

“Ghast.” Llant stood slowly. “Not now.”

The old Klingon laughed and came toward her. Llant’s cloak slid from her shoulders and she reached for her batleth, eyes on Ghast. She backed away carefully.

“You would fight even better, now.” Ghast filled his lungs and roared challenge.

It was different from their other exercises, Llant knew at once. His attack was fierce and very strong. Everything else left her mind as she defended herself. Time seemed to slow, and she could see the amphitheater, the old Klingon, herself very clearly. She felt the hot, red intensity she had experienced on Caliban simmer alive as he pressed her.

The offensive passed back and forth between them. Llant could see no sign of fatigue in him as the fight went on. His blade slid under hers and she felt the sting of steel, and the wetness of blood on her forearm.

Llant saw the purpose in Ghast’s face as he pressed the attack. Those other Klingon faces had been different. They had despised her even as she killed them.

The discomfort in her arm disappeared. She narrowed her concentration and used the only advantage she had over her tutor. Llant increased the speed of her attack, forcing Ghast to reply with less than his full strength as he anticipated her next thrust.

The other Klingons had died quickly by knife, phaser or captured batleth. But she hadn't been dueling with them. They were common warriors, not Shahar. If she had faced one like Ghast in the jungle, Llant knew she would not have survived.

As she might not survive this. Ghast was Klingon. If she was to survive, she must be Klingon, too.

It was exhilarating. Her body felt strong and light. Ghast’s arms were longer, and he was stronger, but she took the offensive and held it, moving with precision and speed as she forced him to respond to her attack.

He took a single step back, pivoting for a better footing on the rocks, and answered her with a stroke that vibrated along the metal into her bones.

Llant disengaged and slid her blade along his in a single movement. The tip was crimson in the firelight as she completed the stroke.

Ghast held his batleth at the ready and glanced at his biceps. “Well done!”

Her concentration was broken. It was the first time she had drawn blood on her tutor. “Ghast!” Llant shouted as he forced her back over the rock. She wanted to yell at him to stop the fight, but found she couldn’t say the words even if it meant her death.

Foot by foot she retreated, until she found the great stone marker at her back. Her arms, shoulders and back throbbed from the force of Ghast’s strokes. With a final mighty sweep of his weapon, Llant felt her batleth wrenched from her grasp. It flew through the air to clatter amid the rocks. She faced him panting, and turned her head so her neck was exposed.

“You know I can't kill you, _thari_ \-- especially after you cut me.”

She felt a hot pain in her arm and looked down in surprise.

“You've earned this.” Ghast stood beside her with his d’ktagh. Blood stained its blade and ran down her arm.

" _ghuy'cha'_ " Fiery pain pulsed in her shoulder. The cuts that crossed her shoulder cap were clean but deep.

Ghast guided her back to the fire. He retrieved her batleth from the rocks and placed it next to her. “Drink some water, I’ll be back in a few moments.”

Exhaustion took her. Her shoulder and arm burned, her legs tingled with the aftereffects of exertion. Llant emptied the water skin and lay back on her cloak looking at the stars, her mind numb and floating.

“I'm very proud of you.” Ghast reappeared with some cactus. He peeled the skin away, extracted the pulp. “Sit up.” He began to clean her shoulder with the pulp. “Does that help?”

It cooled the burning, and slowly the throbbing diminished. “Better. I hope there’s a reason for this. Do you feel you get three cuts for every one I get?”

Ghast roared with laughter. He stripped off his tunic and turned his body so she could see his left shoulder cap. He touched the ivory-colored mark that broke the smoothness of his mahogany-colored skin.

“Shaitan’s jest. We have only a few Klingon women who become Shahar, and now I have marked a human female. This scar is a badge. You would be assassin-elite if you were Klingon. You may be the best fighter I've ever trained. And any warrior who questions that, you can cut.”

He dried her shoulder, inspected the wound. “It will heal white. You'll have a good scar.” He packed the area with fibers.

“What about your arm?” Llant watched him treat his own wound with pulp.

“Minor. You can mend my tunic in the morning when you do yours.”

“Mend it yourself, old warrior!” She laughed at him, then yawned.

Ghast pulled on his tunic and gathered his cloak. “We'll sleep by the rocks. Animals will come during the night, and this tiny fire would not dissuade them from investigating us.”

They sat with their backs to the marker, as they had done for so many nights. Llant lay her head against his shoulder. She had become accustomed to the night time chill, but still welcomed the heat between their bodies.

“We’re nearly through. I wondered how I would hold up to the road, but I’m less old than I thought. It’s been 20 years and more since I trained an apprentice. You are a strange people. You thrive on discipline and desire, if you choose. You would be lethal warriors if your code was not so confused, your purposes so diverse. It is strange, but with my knowledge of humans today, I still do not know what I would speak to the council. You will absorb us, I fear.”

“It's the way of time and space,” Llant was nearly asleep. “People meet, merge, travel on the great journey together. Both of us will continue to grow, learn, fight . . . I wouldn’t expect a Klingon to complain because the journey got rough, or because a challenge demanded undeveloped skills.”

“Take your own advice. We have a great piece of work ahead of us.”

“You welcome the chance to work in the colony? Have we absorbed you, old warrior? I'm so glad you'll be there.”

“A new life for a dead Klingon.” Ghast’s voice floated to her ears as sleep overtook her. “Shaitan’s jest, or Shaitan’s plan. It is not such a bad thing to be dead.”

 

It was nearly sunset. The day had been unusually wind-free. Llant ran with her cloak tied about her waist. Her skin was nearly the color of Ghast’s, and her hair was streaked with sun. They alternated their pace by habit, easily, attuned to the land and each other. The terrain was scrub covered now, fewer cacti in evidence. The path crossed a trickle of water, the first Llant had seen outside of the wells. They slowed to a walk as the color left the sky.

“The land is friendlier, but game is shyer. I haven’t seen a slizzard all day, and those sandhoppers are fast and skinny.”

“You're fast enough to kill one with a stone, but it takes practice. There’s our marker.” Ghast pointed ahead. “That was a good, long run. Two more markers and we’re done.”

Llant folded her cloak and began her exercises. “I'm looking forward to a hot bath and a cold beer. A lifetime of this would not be to my liking.”

“I thought you would do more whining about that.” Ghast began his own exercises. “Your character shouldn’t surprise me any longer, but it still does.”

“It was going on. I just kept it to myself,” she laughed, picking up her batleth. “Your language, while singularly rich for conveying threat, is rather limited for whining.”

Ghast stiffened, then slowly picked up his own weapon. “We have company.”

Llant followed his gaze. The scrub parted.

“Who are you, and what is this?” Bass outrage vibrated the air.

A grey-banded Klingon and two young warriors faced them across the circle of beaten dirt in front of the marker.

“I am Ghast, she is my pupil. I know you, Ten’dat. We met at Quonos guildhouse.”

The old Klingon shook his head. “Ghast is dead. You may look like him, but the form of a human female stands beside you. Ghast would not be here with such a one. You must both be demons, put here to test my students.”

Ghast snorted. “A harsh test.” He carefully loosened his leg strap and pulled one pant leg free. “The marks of gfleurg teeth. It tried to eat me, failed. I did not die.”

They looked at the triple ridge of white scarring.

“It this was true, why would you have a human female here? Ghast had no kindness for humans.”

“She is my student, and has earned a scar.”

“No!” One of the younger warriors could not contain himself. “This is wrong. This is a Klingon place, a warrior’s ritual. This alien female does not belong here.”

“He may challenge her, Ten’dat.” Ghast looked amused. “It will teach him to weigh matters more fully before opening his mouth.”

“Keiv is unscarred,” Ten’dat said slowly. “But Trivor has done well, and earned the mark on this road. It's time for evening exercise. Let them face each other, and we will see the truth or falseness in your tale.”

Ghast nodded.

“I am Trivor.” The young warrior stepped forward gravely, eyes sharply evaluating her stance. He held his blade ready.

“I am Llant’Gornu.”

Ten’dat drew an explosive breath. “ _Sheld’kaj_! You cannot be Ghast, he would have killed such a one.”

“It will bring me great honor to return as Shahar, with the death of a _sheld’kaj_ to my credit.” Trivor circled her. “Kahless is kind.”

“Kahless is her mentor and Shaitan is her father,” Ghast laughed. “You will know this.”

The young warrior was cautious and clever. The opening blows were from the exercise forms, challenge and answer. He was strong and quick, seasoned from his journey. His eyes were confident as he held the offensive, attacking with force. It was no exercise he was fighting. He planned to kill her.

Llant watched his arms, met his blade and gave no ground, forcing him to move in a circle as they fought. He was a very good fighter, although nowhere near Ghast’s level of skill.

She began to speed her responsive strokes and, with a blur of motion took the offensive from him. The world seemed to freeze and even the noise of the blades faded. She was peripherally aware of the three Klingons watching, like mahogany carved statuary in a desert shrine.

The warrior she faced held her eyes as they strained together, blades locked. She grinned fiercely, spun away and increased her speed again, demanding every atom of her body work in harmony with her will. The young Klingon did not have Ghast’s great strength, and Llant knew she could kill him if she needed to. The knowledge came with a surge of heat and an alien joy.

She roared as Ghast had roared at her and pivoted away. The tip of her batleth skimmed the air in front of his face and left a sliver of blood.

“Ka’djah!”

Ghast and Ten'dat stepped forward.

Trivor grounded his blade, looking to his teacher for guidance. Blood streaked his face. He was breathing hard and growled as Llant grounded her own blade and saluted.

“She fights like a demon, Ghast.” Ten’dat motioned to his pupils. “You fought well, Trivor, no honor has been lost. You won't kill her with a batleth. I don’t know why you would choose to train her, but there is no more doubt in my mind -- you are Ghast. I must report this at guildhouse.”

“Report the sighting of a ghost? Do as you will.”

“May we share this space with you tonight?”

Ghast and Ten’dat faced each other. “It's tradition. But you must acknowledge she is Shahar, and so no longer _sheld’kaj_ to you.”

“She is Shahar.” The words were grudgingly spoken. “Whatever else she was happened before. This is the way of Shahar.” He nodded and took his students to the opposite side of the clearing.

Llant sat beside Ghast against the marker and watched them prepare for the night. “He was reluctant.”

Ghast laughed. “Ten’dat has great honor, and little imagination. He was doing his duty. He will consult with others at guildhouse about this night. You fight well, _thari_.”

“Thank you, teacher.” She looked at up the stars. “Shall we take turns on watch?”

“I’ll wake you after midnight. Sleep, now. Two more nights, and we’re home.”

“Home?” She laughed. “I thought you were sick of Star.”

“Home is people, not place. I miss yelling at Wolfe when she gets distracted on the exercise floor. I miss prodding Morgan out of her sloth, and I miss Felice’s massages. I even begin to miss Takworthy complaints about her vegetation.”

“And Carey, peering at you with her med scan? It will be good to get to work on the colony. I’m ready now.”

“I know. It's been a good road. If I’d felt this young after the gfleurg incident, I might have gone back and carved a few warriors.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Her eyes closed. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“And your warrior?”

“The loss no longer drives me.” As she said it, Llant knew it was truth. The sadness and sense of loss remained, but it didn’t dictate her future.

“Then perhaps Wolfe will forgive me for this journey.”

“As if you cared for that.” Llant slid her hand under his arm. “I'll miss sleeping with you.”

“Llant’Gornu.” Ghast moved from her side so quickly that she nearly toppled over. He knelt in front of her, his face darkly shadowed in the moonlight.

Llant pressed her back against the marker and stared at him. Heat seemed to move in waves between them in spite of the cool night air.

“Ghast?”

“We're family. You have a husband. If I believed your heart could be freely given again, I'd ignore my age and find a warrior’s path to claim it. But I don't believe such a thing is possible.”

“The next time we fight, I'll try my best to cut you again.” She was thoroughly, gloriously angry. “Another Klingon rejection, and another I didn’t honestly earn.”

“Perhaps.” His fingers brushed her chin. “Humans talk too much about their relationships, and find too much humor in sex. But, I will miss sleeping with you too, _thari_.” Ghast’s hand dropped. He pivoted back into a sitting position next to her and looped an arm around her, drawing her close.

Llant took a deep breath, closed her eyes and relaxed into him. “By the way, just exactly when did Felice start learning the art of Klingon massage? I thought the Circians were fighting among themselves for that privilege.”

“Only recently. But like all humans who find something they were meant to excel at, she has progressed with astonishing speed and proficiency,” Ghast laughed. “Sleep. Dream of fighting.”

 

Two more days of running found them at the marker that signaled the end of their journey. As the sun set they performed their nightly routines.

“Shall I call Star, or shall we spend one more night under the stars?” Llant watched Ghast stretch.

“Call. If they’re there, we can go home. It was a good road, but it has ended.”

Llant touched her com stud. “Thank you. Whatever the next road will bring us, I'm better prepared to meet it.”

“You are a warrior, Llant'Gornu. You bring me honor.”

Her stud beeped. “They’re going to transport us.”

 

 _WOLFE: DON'T PANIC_

“Cap!” Wolfe stepped forward, then stopped.

Ghast was thinner, darker, incredibly tougher in appearance. He seemed years younger than the old Klingon she remembered. For a moment she scarcely recognized Llant. Her hair was tumbled and sun-streaked, her skin burnished to a deep bronze. The muscles on her bare arms were taut and defined.

Llant stepped off the pad first. “Dre’gnath.” She looked at Ghast, switched languages. “Good to be home, Wolfe. Take us back to the colony.”

“Carey expects you both in med bay.” Wolfe knew her voice was usually tentative.

“Shall we get it over with?” Ghast said.

Llant nodded. “Ayiah. Gre’thal diccor.”

Ghast snorted as he followed her out of the room. “Morgan says pain in the ass. It’s one of the few expressions superior to the Klingon equivalent.”

“Is that why you haven’t taught me many colloquialisms? Because your language is poor in slang?”

Wolfe listened to them banter until the lift door shut. She touched the com panel. “They’re on their way, Carey. Be prepared, she scared me when I first saw her.”

“What’s wrong?” Carey’s voice was tense with apprehension.

“Nothing,” Wolfe said. “But she looks different. You’ll see.”

 _Since you’re so slow in giving the order, I’ve initiated our return. My sensors tell me she is in excellent physical health. Ghast is also extraordinarily fit. Why are you concerned?_

“You can’t see her eyes.” Wolfe looked at the door to the lift, finding the explanation difficult. “She looks -- younger and older. And for a moment I thought I’d beamed two Klingons on board, and left Llant behind.”

 _It is Gem, and she is well. Must I remind you of Morgan’s all-purpose observation: don’t panic. You haven’t been doing your training exercises. Ghast will be displeased. If you are distracted, this might be a good time to use the gym._

“You are growing into a nag, Star.” Wolfe sighed. “I can’t believe he could be in better condition than he was before. I suppose he’ll be able to yell at me twice as loudly.” She touched the com panel again. “Bridge -- Sheila? This is Wolfe. I’m going off-duty. I’ll be in the gym.”

“Are they all right?”

Wolfe snorted. “Star thinks so. But if you’ve been skipping your exercises, you might want to come down and join me.”

“Later.” Sheila’s voice was abstracted. “We’re still in Klingon space and I’m uncomfortable. I’ll wait for Llant to relieve me.”

“He doesn’t scream so much at you.” Wolfe left the transporter room, resigned. She passed Felice in the hall.

“How are they?” Felice grabbed Wolfe’s arm.

“They’re fine. They went to see Carey.” Wolfe patiently removed the hand. “She should be done with them soon. Star says he’s in better shape than when he left.”

Felice nodded, green eyes bright. “Time he proved it, then.” She moved away purposefully.

Wolfe watched her go thoughtfully. “Star -- I think I’ll skip the gym for now. I have a feeling Ghast will be too busy to yell at me. For a while.”


	13. Chapter 13

**YEAR SIX AFTER WRIGLEY**

 _KRILL: SPORTS IN A BAR_

They stood on the roof and watched the sun rise over Eev.

The yard below was neat, groomed vegetation and raked dirt paths inside a geometric perimeter of fence generators. A warm, misty wind began to pick up speed as light touched the buildings, carrying smells of machine oils, rock dust and, from farther away, pollen-covered flowers. Spring had come again.

“You made good time back.” Krill yawned as he spoke.

“We were full, no reason to linger. I don’t like being gone for so long.”

Krill grinned. “You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you. It’s the men and the holosuites that worry me. Any problems?”

“Minor ones. I’ve two youngsters still in restrained quarters for breaking up a holosuite and damaging some local enforcement personnel. Port governor wants to speak with you about it.”

Korax groaned. “The houses know if they let them get drunk and go into a holosuite they’ve all the ingredients for trouble. Klingon warriors are not beardless Altassi tourists. It’s their own fault.”

“You can relay those sentiments to governor T‘shin. He won’t appreciate your obvious logic.”

Korax shut his eyes and breathed deeply. "I'm still seeing fields of rock imprinted on the underside of my eyelids. Anything new in Port?”

“More humans there lately. A Federation ambassador has rented office space, and a Terrran compound is under construction by Si’eev ag station. They’re not after ore, they’re looking for latinum.”

“Well, there’s enough for everyone, for a very long time. I noticed more ships in parking orbit as we came in.”

“Ayiah. Want to find some food? Portside should be quiet this early.”

“I never thought I’d say I was getting tired of replicator food, but even the smell of bad cooking would be welcome.” Korax followed Krill. “The compound looks good. And the new family quarters are nearly complete. You had no other incidents?”

“It was quiet. You have a message from Moc, but it was coded personal, low priority.”

“I’ll go back to the office after we eat. We had a good run, Krill. The men will get a substantial bonus from it.”

Krill raised his eyebrows. “Latinum?”

“No.” Korax shook his head. “Later. Food now, and some Portside atmosphere.”

 

The business was quiet, a handful of upright bodies scattered around at shadowed tables. Two humans were seated at the far end of the bar, watching the wallscreen.

“Welcome back, captain.” The owner of Portside was an overweight Altassi who could barely waddle between his array of bottles and the customers. “What’ll it be?”

Krill pulled a flask from one of his pockets. “A plate of hotbreads, some kir’ji honey. And two glasses.”

“You know I hate that. Don’t let your men see you bringing your own drink,” the Altassi grumbled.

“What’s on the screen?” Krill asked. “Fights?”

“It's a human thing, Olympic games, they call it. Ask the humans, they know all about it.”

Krill scooted down the bar, motioning Korax to follow.

“Can you tell us what this display is about?” he asked.

The humans looked up. They’d had a rough night, Korax judged.

“Olympic games. They held them on Tabor this year, expanded categories to nonhumans,” one man answered.

His companion snorted.

“Shut up, Ed.” The man rose. “I’m Lars Taissen, this is Ed Smyth. We’re with the Federation embassy. I recognize you, Commander Krill, Captain Kendal.”

“They’re wrestling?” Krill stared at the enormously broad, possibly male couple grappling on a square mat.

“Sumo wrestling. Yes. Not a wildly popular event any more, but a traditional one. The Olympic games are a contest of physical and mental dexterity and athletic training that humans have staged since before we started traveling space. Non-human participation hasn’t been allowed until fairly recently. New events have been added to the Tabor games to encourage nonhuman participation.”

Ed snorted again, into a pale drink.

“What are some of the other contests?” Krill asked.

The Altassi set glasses in front of them, and a tray of hotbread. Krill poured whiskey and pushed a glass to Korax.

“Distance running, swimming, the game of football, low-grav fencing, traditional wrestling, mechanical marksmanship -- and, you should be interested, they added batleth combat for the Tabor games. The announcer said it would be covered after the sumo wrestling.”

“Batleth combat? Humans?” Krill was politely contemptuous.

“It's an open category.” Lars turned his attention on the screen. “See, they’re ready to begin. Those notations at the bottom of the screen. This is the final contest. Forty contestants have been narrowed to four in a series of matches. Two couples will fight, then the winners will fight. This contest features K’enda of Quonos and Gornu of Star Colony.”

Krill felt Korax’ hand close on his shoulder.

He reached up, removed the hand. “Kendal.”

“It’s her,” Korax said, leaning toward the screen.

Krill studied the woman facing the muscular female Klingon. “She’s small,” he said in amazement. “What possible hope has she against K’enda? I’ve heard of her, she's a master. Good technique, solid musculature, and fast on her feet.”

“But slow compared to Llant’Gornu. Watch her move,” Korax said.

Krill frowned. “Transfer transmission to storage media,” he called to the bartender. He watched the human meet the Klingon’s charge. “She is unexpectedly strong. And very fast. And watching her I can’t help but feel K’enda is somewhat overdressed.”

Korax laughed, humorlessly. “She doesn't appreciate Klingon fashion.”

Krill watched the human, dressed in a halter, tight exercise shorts, and elasole boots, spin and jab her weapon. K’enda wore full Klingon battle uniform, and seemed increasingly slow and awkward by comparison. Krill leaned forward, intent on the screen. “Did you see that? Her shoulder?”

“What about her shoulders?” Korax grated.

“She has a scar on her shoulder cap. And see, that maneuver? She has been trained by a Klingon assassin, she has the mark. Your mate is Shahar!”

Korax looked at him, wordlessly.

“She’s good, my friend. K’enda will not win this match. By the hells, I’d like to fight her!” Krill pounded the bar and roared with the humans as K’enda’s batleth flew through the air, and Gornu stopped her weapon at rest on the K'enda's throat.

“I told you she was dangerous.” Korax stared at the screen, unblinking.

“She’s a spitfire!” Lars said proudly. “Terran stock out of Caitliff colony. She’s tough, a former Federation ensign, with an interesting history. Look, it says she faces Glain, out of Quonos, for the final contest. That’s several hours away.” The human poked his companion. “Let’s go get some sleep, come back later.” He nodded to Krill and Korax. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Krill nodded. Korax was still staring at the screen. “Send the disc over to the compound.” Krill pushed a slug of latinum at the Altassi tender. “She’s not as hideous as I imagined. Even without a smooth forehead, I would never mistake her for a Klingon woman, yet she is unmistakably female.”

“Soft, yet hard,” Korax said quietly. “She is magnificent.”

“She is. I wonder who trained her? He etched his mark into her shoulder, and she fights like a warrior. I 've heard of Glain, he's one of the council’s current favorites, and a great fighter. I doubt she has the mass to face him, even though she moves like a flarefly. It's interesting they entered two of their best in the human games, and more interesting that a slight human female is facing them. We'll return tonight and watch.”

“I have work to do.”

Krill felt the withdrawal. “Get some sleep, clear your desk. I’ll stop in for you later. At least you know where she is, now. Star Colony.”

“The Star is her ship. Star Colony?” Korax stood. “I'll have to find out. It's been six years,” he said, an odd sound in his voice.

“Kendal?” Krill touched his shoulder, an unaccustomed gesture between them.

“It will be well.” Korax nodded abruptly. “Let’s get back to the compound.”

 

Krill paused at the guard station as Korax continued up to his office. “Package from Portside?”

"Just arrived." Tieg handed over a record stick.

“Viewer,” Krill ordered as he entered. His quarters were simple, clean and saved from severity by a collection of furs that draped his chairs and pooled in soft islands on the floor. He threw his boots into a corner, fed the stick into the viewer unit, and stretched out on the furs.

The fight began to replay. Krill watched, analyzing Gornu's movements. “Hold,” he ordered as he tried to follow the human’s arms. “Magnify, upper right quadrant. Enhance.” He stared at the white, curved scar. It was the mark of Shahar, elite assassin warriors. It signified she had trained with, and blooded, another Shahar.

There was no greater indicator of fighting skill than to bear a Shahar scar. And by Kendal's own word, she didn't have the scar six years ago. It was almost impossible to imagine a human, male or female, could earn such an honor in that amount of time. And she would be safe from other Shahar. She would no longer be _sheld’kaj_ to the guild. Krill wondered how the guild felt about her status.

“Demagnify, continue.” He watched the battle proceed. K’enda was clearly outmatched, and the human did not prolong the contest unnecessarily. She was quick and precise. “Hold,” he ordered.

She stood like a warrior, batleth controlled and deadly at K’enda’s throat. She wore so little clothing it was easy to see the general shape of her body. Her arms and legs seemed underdeveloped by Klingon standards, but when she moved they showed sleekly defined muscles. Balance, coordination, tactical aggressiveness, she showed superior abilities in all areas. And she was fast, as fast a two-legged batleth fighter as Krill had ever seen. She _was_ a warrior, Krill decided, looking at her face frozen in victory.

He had often wondered if Kendal was exaggerating his feelings for her. Now Krill thought Gornu would be a worthy oath-mate for a warrior. Although she was female, he could see why Kendal might be drawn to her -- although sex seemed a radical expression of interest to offer a female.

What Shahar had trained her, and where? And what choices would Kendal be making now? Life had been good, of late. Hopefully Kendal would do nothing demented. They would watch the next games, and see where they found themselves after.

“Computer,” Krill closed his eyes. “Wake me in four hours.”

 

“Did you get any sleep?”

Korax looked up to find Krill lounging in the office doorway. “No. I was busy.”

“You look tired, and short-tempered.”

“Play Moc’s message.” Korax went back to entering log notes.

Krill took the slate, activated the message.

“I’ll be a day early, Kendal. I’m bringing you a new officer, and a new miner. We’re retiring the Frar, I have a buyer who might arrive before I do. He may inspect her, but the rest of the arrangements must wait until I get there. He is an Altassi, d’Jar. Tell Krill: M’aidra was poisoned by one of her sisters.” Moc smirked, then faded to nothing.

Krill placed the slate carefully on the desk. “It's a day of significant events,” he said slowly. “Who is standing as officer of watch?”

Korax consulted his desk. “Teig. He’s downstairs at the guard post now.”

“Let’s go off-duty, then.” Krill led the way to the post. “We’ll be at Portside. Don’t bother us unless Moc arrives. If anyone breaks up a holosuite tonight, let T’shin take him.”

Korax nodded at Teig’s inquiring look. He was silent during the walk to the bar.

Portside was crowded, but they found a tiny table under the wallscreen. The humans were back, drinking and laughing, watching a low-grav fencing match.

“Blood wine?”

“A lot of it,” Korax said. “What did Moc’s message mean?”

“M’aidra is the reason I was assigned to Agab. She was a evil, jealous-minded she-slith who hated _don’hel_ , and mistrusted her husband. With reason, it turned out, although her suspicions about my mate were unfounded. To die by poison is not the death of a warrior, but since M’aidra was vermin, it seems an appropriate method to select. I hope they let her sister die quickly, it was a deed well done.”

Korax began to drink, single-mindedly. “Are the scales of honor equal for you in this matter now?”

“I believe, finally, they are.” Krill sighed. “I don’t need to ask what you’ve been thinking of all day. I reviewed the recording of her fight with K’enda when I returned to my quarters. She is truly an amazing fighter.”

“She is amazing in every way. I want to find her, want to see her once again. When I think I will never face her, never touch her again, it's like a batleth turning in my chest. It's been so long.”

“Your honor-taint is retired. You may face her as a warrior. But where is Star Colony?”

“I can find no reference on our nets. I initiated a specific search. The last mention of her that appears in unsecured data is a notation from nearly two years ago, and merely stated the Star had been reported in the Bergen.” His fingers flexed convulsively on his glass.

“Do you think she was looking for you?”

“It would be pointless to speculate. Why would she wait four years before returning?”

“Perhaps the humans can give us more information.” Krill stood, went to the bar.

“We met this morning,” he greeted the men. “You’ve come back for the next contest? She faces an opponent that out-masses her, and stands among our legendary batleth fighters. And I have heard that Glain is uncommonly fast for his size. How do you rate her chances in the competition?”

“Commander,” Lars nodded. “I’d say good, based on this morning’s fight. But as you say, his size will be a significant factor.”

“Your female warrior has our respect. Can you tell me where Star Colony is? We've never heard of it.”

“I’m not really sure myself,” Lars’ attention returned to the screen. “It’s a small, private colony somewhere in borderspace. Colonized by smugglers, they say.”

Krill returned to their table and relayed the information.

“If it's in borderspace, we should have some data,” Korax said.

“We’ll find some. The contest is beginning.”

Glain had come prepared for her style of fighting. He had discarded traditional uniform, and met her wearing only the ancient-style leather harness Shahar sometimes hunted in. His chest and shoulders were bare, and an ivory colored scar was clearly discernable on his shoulder, twin to her own. He met her weapon with brutally strong stokes that rang like bells. She was faster, but on the defensive from the beginning.

“It’s lasting longer than I thought it would,” Krill murmured under the bar noise. “She has great stamina, and is minimizing the stress on her arms from those charges. By the hells!” Krill was on his feet. Both opponents had drawn blood in the exchange, tiny red marks visible on Gornu’s arm and Glain’s cheek. “That was well done!”

The crowd gathered in front of the wallscreen roared their approval.

“She’s making him come after her, but her arms aren't strong enough to absorb much more.” Krill said. “There -- that’s ended it!”

The bar erupted as Gornu’s batleth was knocked from her hands. She faced Glain, raised her head in a Klingon gesture, baring her throat. Glain’s batleth lightly touched her neck. On screen, he threw his head back and roared.

The viewer irised to another scene, many men on a large green field.

“She is a great fighter.” Krill saw Korax’ clenched fists, and the wild look in his eyes. “I’d say we should spend some more time in the gym if you plan on seeing her again. She’d slice you up with a batleth.”

Korax took a deep breath, relaxed slightly. “You have an annoying sense of humor, Krill. I’m going to get drunk.”

“Probably a good idea.” Krill raised his mug. “May you die in battle, Kendal! Tell me a story while we drink.”

Korax stared into his wine, began to smile. “You are familiar with those pestilent creatures -- tribbles?”

 

 _KORAX: BRIBING MOC_

“Captain. Captain,” the communicator was insistent.

Korax rolled to the side of his bed, holding his head. “Yes?”

“Moc’s here.” It was Lyn’s voice. “He’s in your office.”

Korax swallowed an obscenity. “On my way.” He dressed rapidly, peering briefly at his reflection with eyes that throbbed from the inside. He and Krill had left Portside in the early morning hours, and staggered back to the consulate.

Moc waited behind his desk, as usual, perusing the log entries. A younger warrior stood quietly, looking out of the small window.

“The buyer for the Frar hasn’t shown up yet?” Moc glanced up as Korax entered.

“No.” Korax sat down quickly.

“Out drinking last night with Krill? Good. You don’t get enough recreation.” Moc stood. “This is commander first-class Rhen. You'll be training him in all aspects of this facility.”

“I have a second.” The words were out before Korax could consider them.

“He will not replace Krill.” Moc’s eyes were sharp, his tone genial. “Rhen is my nephew. He's a good officer and a quick learner. He has a family on Fleeisa which will be relocating here soon. I want you to train him to replace you.”

Korax stood, ignoring his discomfort. “You'll reassign me again?”

“Perhaps. If Rhen can assume your post. I've been very impressed with the superior training your warriors-third receive. They have developed into excellent miners, and better warriors. This facility is running smoothly in two years. Everyone knows their job, and does it. Your family compound is beginning to fill up, and this makes your work force even more stable. The port governor speaks highly of you, Krill, and most of the men, although he says the younger ones are contentious. This is normal.

“Local miners don't seem to resent your presence, and the Altassi appear indifferent to your operation. They report you have observed mining etiquette, and bullied no one in the Bergen. While some may not view this as typically Klingon behavior, I take a longer view. There seems to be universal respect for your crews and their abilities. This is a tribute a warrior can appreciate.

“I have a new miner, a bigger, faster ship that will allow you to get further into the Holley Rings in a shorter time. And I anticipate this post will grow and prosper. It's a good post for my family to take more personal interest in.”

Korax shrugged. “I'll do my best. His rank indicates he is qualified to captain a miner.”

“He's been captain of my freighter on all calls except this port for the last two years. He is qualified and capable. And I trust him. Your own fortune will not suffer, I promise.” Moc indicated the logs. “You had another good run. High-grade ore, with substantial amounts of precious stone. You allotted the entire post’s roster an uncharacteristically large credit bonus from this cycle. Why?”

“May I speak with you privately?”

Moc signaled his nephew with his eyes. Rhen shrugged and saluted.

“Later, Captain.”

Moc watched him go. “I think you’ll like him, Kendal. He’s a good warrior, and has a more developed . . . philosophical sense of purpose than I do. Perhaps having a young family contributes to those traits. I never married, we have enough sons in the family to go around. Now, explain the bonus.”

Korax crossed to his wall safe, deactivated the security shield.

“I’m giving this to you because you can make more use of it than I can, although I briefly considered keeping it,” Korax admitted. “I suspect the coffer is worth as much as its contents, and that’s saying a lot.”

He lifted a small octagonal object, draped with cloth, and set it in the middle of the desk. “I found it by accident, no one else saw it.” He uncovered the object.

“H’ley awa!” Moc stared. “An Ancient artifact?”

“It’s a simple container, I believe. If you place your hands into the grooves on the top and press downward firmly the box opens.”

The top of the gray-green metallic box rolled smoothly to one side, the finely etched lines creating new designs as its configuration changed.

Moc looked at the interior. “Trilyte crystals! And cut!” He stared at Korax with an expression of astonishment. “Two of them. This is a priceless find.” He began to pace around the desk, staring in fascination at the chest and contents. “It's been years since I heard even a whisper of any Ancient artifacts being recovered near our space.”

“There was a double handful of common precious stones under the trilyte. I took those and sold them in port, crediting the amount to the men. They deserve it.”

“You're still a mystery to me, Kendal. The box alone, if sold to the right party, could provide for the rest of your life, and found a great family. Separately, the trilyte could buy a small fleet of ships.” Moc stared at the crystal. “You think it's been in the rings since Ancient times?”

“I believe so. I analyzed the trilyte. It has been finely cut, without inner flaw. A feat beyond our technology -- beyond Federation technology. The Romulans have attempted it with limited success, but they did not leave these crystals out in the Holley Rings.”

Moc nodded. “So I arrive, inform you I will give your post to another, and you surrender this treasure?”

Korax shrugged, then winced as his head began to pound with redoubled force. “You have a family, I don't. I appreciate your patronage, although I've worked hard for you. Without your assistance, I would still be under honor-taint. I trust you can use these things to good advantage, and I will have a more powerful, grateful patron. What would I do with the crystals? Get myself killed trying to sell them. Do what you do well, and let others do what they do well. That philosophy has served me with some success.”

Moc’s face reflected a combination of dark cynicism and respect. “And serves you still. I'm astounded, but you're right. I can use these crystals to great advantage.”

The wall com interrupted. “This is Lyn. We have an Altassi here who claims to have an appointment with Moc.”

“I’ll be right down.” Moc placed the edges of his hands on the box cover, watched in fascination as the sides slid smoothly into place, hiding the trilyte from view. “Put it in your safe. I’ll signal you when I’m back on the freighter, and I’ll beam it straight aboard. My family will remember you, Kendal.”

 

 **KORAX: YEAR SIX, THIRD CYCLE ON EEV**

“He may be a good officer, but I’d rather not work with him,” Rhen said.

Korax pounded the desk in exasperation. “You’ve learned a lot in a remarkably short time. Your uncle was right. You’re smart, hard working, and careful in your judgments. The men seem to respect you even though they know how you’re getting this post. You'll have to work with other _don’hel_ warriors in your lifetime, learn to deal with it. On duty they’re no different than other warriors we find in our ranks.”

“Of course,” Rhen saluted him sarcastically. “I will tolerate him, then.”

“He’s a weapons master, and very intelligent, with outstanding command traits. The men don’t care what he does in his off duty hours, why should you?”

“I am uninterested,” Rhen said stiffly. “Except when warriors cause trouble in the port, or disobey the service regs, I must let them live their off duty lives as they would.”

“Keep saying that, you’ll start believing it in time,” Korax matched his sarcasm. “You’re going to be a good post commander, Rhen, when we iron out these eccentricities in your character.”

Rhen smiled. “I’m going to be a good post commander, even with eccentricities. I understand why Moc likes you, and he doesn’t like many people outside of family. You’ve made every effort to inform and train me, and the men respond to your attitude toward me. It's well.”

“Your family is comfortable? The quarters suit them?”

“Very comfortable. My mate is arranging things, and organizing an official school system for the children. She is energetic, eager to make her place in this growing community.”

“Moc’s last message states they would be bringing more females as potential mates, and support personnel," Korax said. "The governor was hesitant until I arranged to purchase another large block of land in back of our compound. He'll transfer title to you when Moc arrives.”

“They don't fear us here, but respect us. Such an attitude seems almost more useful than fear.”

“It is. They know what we're capable of doing if confronted,” Korax stood. “You may decide whether or not to work with Krill. He doesn’t care if you disapprove of him, but he's a warrior the length of his backbone. Don’t insult him or you’ll lose an ear dueling.”

Rhen nodded, saluted and left the office.

Korax arranged his desk. “Krill?” he touched the com.

“I’m in Fleist. Bay door’s jammed again. I’ll be down soon.”

“Meet me at Portside.”

The old Altassi had crowded in more tables, knocked down a wall and expanded. Eev was a busy place, and Portside was one of the few eateries that tried to prepare Klingon cuisine. Some of his men were drinking, and watching the currently popular opera being performed by holocast. The floor area was insufficient to accommodate the action, and the characters tended to appear in the center of some of the tables.

Korax found a quiet spot in the new alcove.

“Pleasure, sir?” A small Altassi waiter stopped at his table.

“Bottle of decent whiskey. Two glasses.” Korax tuned the opera out, although his men were clearly enjoying it in spite of the distractions. One was on his feet, joining in a bass denunciation of the heroine’s mother. He’d heard it before, and often, around the ships.

“I wish they’d find a new favorite, I’m growing tired of that one.” Krill appeared, grinning and still dirty from his trip.

“Why were you working? Everyone else signed off, cleaned up, and headed for recreation.”

“The bay doors on the Fleist were jammed. These young warriors evidence a lack of patience when dealing with cranky machinery.”

“You kicked it until it worked?”

“Damn near.” Krill picked up his glass. “Drinking whiskey, are we?” He closed his eyes and swallowed a large measure. “Nearly palatable. I’m either getting used to it, or it’s higher quality than that stuff you usually buy.”

“Rhen spoke with me.” Korax watched his friend. “You weren’t even on the same ship, and you couldn’t work together?”

“He tries, but he just doesn’t like me.” Krill shrugged. “I called over a warning about hot rock, and they got into it anyway. I reviewed the procedures for avoiding such areas, and I don’t think he liked it. He knew better, he just got excited by a rich scan. You know how it is sometimes in hot areas. He admitted this himself.”

“He'll be a good miner, and a good captain. But he has limits. It’s just his nature. And I don't think age will mellow him.”

“You still have no idea where Moc will post you?”

Korax shook his head. “None. He'll be here soon, with additional staff. I expect he'll tell me this time. Rhen has served three consecutive tours in the rock. His wife is driving me insane. She refused to accept that communications are poor when the ships are deep in the Holley. She tried to contact him daily for the past 10 days.”

Krill kicked back his chair against the wall, stretched his legs and sighed explosively. “It’s good to be on planet again.”

“Krill -- I could ask Moc to send you with me.”

Krill studied his face. “You'd do that?”

“Rhen has enough trained staff. And I feel he might add his influence to such a request, if that's what you want. At this point it’s a gamble, the post you know, with a commander who dislikes you, or a post unknown.”

“You’ve been a good friend, Kendal. I would prefer the post unknown. I was hesitant to say anything."

“You know me better. I think Moc has a hidden appreciation of your past exploits. I'll request it.”

“Do you suppose we might find an assignment that doesn’t include mining?”

Korax rolled a large swallow of whiskey over his tongue. “I believe we've earned a better place than Agab. And Moc said nothing about training other miners. It’s hard to tell what might be in the razorfin’s mind.”

“Captain.” Korax’ com signalled. “Moc is here, he’s in your office.”

“On my way.” Korax emptied his glass. “They’ve installed Altassi bath-jets in the compound, and the plumbing is finally finished.”

Krill looked at his dusty boots. “I’ll walk back with you then. Have you noticed that as soon as we get a place liveable, we get shipped off to another of Shaitan's assholes?”

 

“Council member Lirg, this is Captain Kendal.”

Moc was, for once, not behind the desk as Korax entered. That position was occupied by a lean, white-haired warrior with eyes that looked like they could cut stone.

“Council member Lirg.” Korax saluted, a cold feeling in his chest. “An honor.”

Lirg’s eyes considered them. “Sit down, both of you. Moc has told me a long story about you, Kendal. He likes your work, and recommends both your abilities and attitude.”

“He has been a good patron,” Korax said carefully, the cold spreading down his legs. “If you know my history, you know it was important I devote myself to being a good warrior.”

“Perhaps. Moc also says you are of a serious character, and do not indulge the warrior’s perogative to find recreation.”

“That may be true. But a warrior under honor-taint must be more restrained than his fellows. I enjoy recreation as much as other warriors.”

Lirg’s lip curled in a short bark of laughter. “I’m not reproaching you. You must be wondering how -- and why -- Moc drags a member of the high council out to this little planet, far from homeworld.”

“It's a surprise to see you here,” Korax admitted.

“I've been given an assignment by the council, one proving more difficult to complete than I imagined. And Moc is an old family friend, who tells me you might help me advance my mission.”

Korax risked a sideways look at Moc, who returned his stare with a sharp smile.

Lirg stood and began to pace the office.

“We enter a new time. Faced with more alien cultures, forces that approach being as strong as our own, we adapt to a wider view of the universe. There will be peace with the Federation, for a time, it seems. And we are free -- and encouraged! -- to move into the sphere of other civilizations, other governments.

“Instead of military posts, we will be creating embassy posts, in the heart of our adversary’s space. This is proving to be an unexpected challenge. Normally our elite warriors would be first chosen for such assignment. But most of them are unsuited to this new interaction. Warbird captains make poor ambassadors, I have found. So I must look elsewhere. Moc says you have all the qualities that make both a fine warrior, and a potential ambassador.”

Korax stared at Lirg.

“It's a rank equivalent to captain-elite,” Lirg said, amused at his astonishment. “And the planet I have in mind for you is not a great political center, but a booming economic hub for many peoples. Moc has given his recommendation, says you are industrious and good at creating profit. You are a fair commander, respected by your men. You can maintain suitable relations with aliens without losing honor. Have I found one of the ambassadors I need?”

Korax stood. “It sounds like a challenge. I accept.”

“Good!” Lirg nodded to Moc. “Brief him, and get me off this planet! I need to return to Fleeisa.”

Moc watched him go, the razorfin temporarily overshadowed by the fangfish. “Our fortunes continue to ascend, Kendal. This should prove the opportunity of a lifetime for you. You’re being posted to Tellis, just inside Federation space, close to border space. You can research it on your trip out. We bought a trade-house from a Circian.”

“I have a favor to ask.”

Moc’s eyebrows elevated. “For yourself? That’s a first.”

“Post Krill there with me.”

Moc nodded. “That would not displease Rhen, although I think it’s a shortsighted attitude. Krill’s been an asset to this post. And you are comrades. Yes, it can be arranged. You'll need a second, he should find such a posting to his liking. Anyone else? This is a brand new establishment. Lirg suggested filling the roster from the staff I just transported to Eev, but it seems you might do better with a few of your first crew.”

“You're generous. Arath is nearly too old to mine, but is a sharp and wily warrior. And Lyn, Teig. How big is this post?”

“Eight warriors, to settle affairs. Then, we shall see," Moc said. "A warbird will be here soon to transport you. Now, Lirg wants to leave quickly. Tell me how Rhen has done, and your final assessment of the state of this post.”


	14. Chapter 14

**YEAR SEVEN ON TELLIS**

 _KORAX: AMBASSADORS_

“They’ve done it to us again,” Krill looked at the looming structure with dismay.

The warbird captain had transported them and left, abruptly. He had clearance but felt no inclination to linger in Federation space. And Tellis was busy, ships hung in parking orbit like fruit on a tree.

“Arath, take the men inside, but stay in one place until we return. Be careful, remember those hoppers on Eev. Krill and I will find the port director and register our presence.”

Arath saluted, with a doubtful look at the buildings.

Korax and Krill followed the wide, sealed streets, guided by a computer tablet’s representation of Tellis port’s layout. The Port and Trade Director’s building was clean and brightly painted, staffed by genial Telli who read their documents thoroughly before letting them past the door.

They found others gathered in a waiting room.

“I guess we sit and wait,” Krill muttered, eyeing the unfamiliar humanoids, who were clearly uncomfortable at the sudden presence of Klingon warriors.

The waiting room gradually cleared. Finally a Telli staff member stopped in front of them. “Ambassador Kendal? To see the director? Please follow.”

The director’s office had a massive wallscreen that showed the ships in orbit overhead. A slight Telli female in a riot of colored scarves welcomed them from behind a desk.

“Ambassador Kendal, I am Port Director Yet. We are honored, but apprehensive, to greet the first Klingon Ambassador to Telli. There are many other planetary officials who desire to greet you, but it was felt you might prefer to first establish yourself. I understand your property may take some industrious application of labor to approach port standards. You are aware it had been condemned before the Circians left?”

“I hope they left for the other side of the universe,” Krill growled.

Yet clasped her hands nervously. Krill’s scarred face evidently unsettled her.

“We didn't know,” Korax said, “but be assured we will do everything we can to swiftly meet community standards.”

“Thank you,” Yet still focused on Krill’s face. “You may contact this office at any time for assistance or information. We are proud of our diversity on Tellis, and eager to promote contact with economically aggressive peoples. You are very welcome here.”

“Thank you, director Yet. We intend this relationship should be mutually productive, and welcome the opportunity to participate in wider economic opportunities, as temporary citizens of Tellis.”

Yet flushed slightly green under her yellowish skin. “Well said, Ambassador. Perhaps you Klingons will surprise us.”

Korax nodded. “We’ll return now. It seems we have a lot of work to do.”

Krill was laughing as they walked back to the warehouses. “You can talk like a human when you want to. You already play the diplomat with some polish.”

“Don’t insult me. I’m getting better with a batleth. First thing I’m going to do is contact Moc, and ask him about the Circians. If they cheated him, I hope he fries their ears.”

“Not that it will help us,” Krill was suddenly glum. “More hard work. Undoubtedly more vermin, from the look of those ruins. And I’m betting the plumbing is substandard as well.”

“Local labor is probably expensive. Fortunately, Moc has allotted a healthy budget for settlement of this post.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re part of his family, after all. He seems unaccountably generous with you.”

“Moc is a razorfin, but he’s a smart razorfin. When you gamble on something, and it pays off every time, you keep gambling on it.”

 

 **YEAR EIGHT AFTER WRIGLEY**

 _KORAX: TRADE OPPORTUNITIES_

The nightclub was warm, a combination of sable darkness and dim red lighting. The booths were deep, with uni-form cushioning that molded itself to any contour pressed against it. Tabletops were equipped with inset vidscreens, ordering tablets, optional privacy screen activator, and a constant readout of sporting event information and commentary. Exotically garbed customers seemed to float across the low-grav dance floor, appearing and disappearing through walls of blackness that signaled active privacy screens.

“I like this place.” Krill finished a last bite of rokeg pie.

“It’s interesting.” Korax had not eaten much, preferring to sit back, watch the dancers and sip whiskey.

“So that was another of Moc’s nephews. Seemed a lot like the old razorfin.”

“I think he is. It doesn’t surprise me that Moc’s going into politics," Korax said. "He should be good at it.”

“What’d they send us this time?”

“Mor said light machinery, industrial textiles. A few crates of kir’jeliq.”

Krill brightened. “That I can sell for a good price.”

“There’s no glory in the easy stuff,” Korax said, laughing.

“No more personnel?”

“They aren’t going to expand much here. Moc says we do well with what we have, although he’ll bring females on the next visit.”

Krill snorted.

“I told him it was unnecessary. But command is concerned the men find recreation with other Klingons, or in the holosuites.”

“Are you going to relay that sentiment to your post?” Krill mocked.

“The men behave like warriors, I see no necessity of prying into their personal recreations.”

“Somehow, I thought that would be your attitude. Most of them have found companions in port. Even Arath! They like this post. I like this post.”

“You haven’t found a companion.”

“No.” Krill’s eyes flashed with humor and easy sarcasm. “We’re getting older. Those silver bandings at your temples have come early. You look the part of ambassador. We work hard, exercise too much, drink too much, mingle easily with the elite of Tellis and act our part as consulate officials for an empire that still impresses the natives. Who needs sex?”

Korax poured more whiskey, old memories whispering. “I think I may have said something like that once. It still ranks in my mind as the single most ignorant thing I ever said.”

“Ambassador! A pleasure to see you!” Port Director Yet stopped at their table, trailing green silks and a benign looking escort. “I had a chance to inspect the new warehouses this morning while you were busy. You have earned our highest approval! I’ve registered official sanction of the structures, and sent you over some more permits to log. Next time, register the permits first!”

“Of course. My appreciation, port director.”

“I also sent an updated list, from the commerce department, of potential trade contacts. We hope to see you and Second Ambassador Krill at the governor’s dinner.” Yet bobbed her head, a Telli gesture of coquettishness.

“We shall be there.”

Yet pulled her silks into a flutter, and floated off.

“Another governor’s dinner,” Krill groaned. “The food and wine are abominable.”

“The people are interesting, though, and we’ve made good trade contacts. I can take Lyn if you wish.” Korax stood. “Let’s go. I’ll finish those damnable permits before Yet decides to pay me another visit.”

“She does seem interested in us,” Krill said slyly. “Or perhaps I should say, in you.”

“Your humor does not improve with age.”

The front of the Klingon compound gleamed black and silver in the extended twilight of a Tellis evening. Two guards saluted as they entered. They looked alert, but comfortable in the variation of the bureaucratic uniform sometimes seen on homeworld officials. Simpler, neater and less cumbersome than full warrior uniform, Korax had substituted it as regulation attire.

“I’m going to read the trade logs, see who’s buying what. Fight in the morning?”

“Ayiah. I nearly beat you last time.” Korax took the elevator to the building’s rooftop offices.

His quarters had been constructed adjacent to the offices, and he felt comfortable above the compound. He had hired a local architect, and with Krill’s assistance bullied him into achieving a cross between the Telli love of dramatic presentation, and functionality they had learned from Krill’s work at Eev. The result was more than satisfactory. The consulate was dark and solid, with unexpected flashes of stark beauty in color and design.

“View.” Korax said as he entered. “Light.”

The wide panels at the far side of the room became translucent, and Tellis port spread out, twinkling in all directions. Globes over his desk began to glow with soft red light. Korax seated himself and touched the inset panel on the glossy black surface. He groaned as he scrolled down the length of information Yet wanted him to re-log. It was the same every time. He rapidly worked down the questionnaire, verified his rank and status, and sent the file back to the director's office.

A steady indicator drew his attention to the next file, and he opened it casually. Commerce contacts. Something for Krill to review, as well. Korax skimmed the species, ships and planets Tellis had recently vetted. He stopped as the symbols seemed to leap off the screen at him.

 _Star of Hope: Star Colony._

Korax stared at the screen, momentarily finding all thought suspended. He reached for the com.

“Krill.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“I’m sending you a file. It contains a new commerce contact I want you to research immediately.”

“Immediately. Tomorrow?”

“Tonight.” Korax paused. “I think I’ve found her.”

 

Korax watched the sky lighten as he paced before the office windows.

“They're contractors. They buy a little, but mostly sell goods and services. They’ve done work in the past for the Tellis government, something the Telli officials I know don't talk about. But they have been given a high rating, and are entered as permanent traders here," Krill said, "They don’t know Llant'Gornu. Wolfe is who they deal with.”

“Wolfe was her first. But if the ship was here, Gem must have been. A H’russ must carry her captain.”

Krill shrugged. “That’s all I could get last night. I should do better today. Did you sleep?”

“No.” Korax stretched, wearily. “I worked. I’ve found a buyer for all the textiles we want to ship here.”

“Those Ronnt! I knew as soon as I saw their uniforms. With hides like theirs, tough materials are needed.”

“Yes. I’ll meet with their trade rep this afternoon, fix a price. Shall we go to the gym?”

“I’d accuse you of trying to get me at a disadvantage, only you appear to be more tired than I am. I slept for a bit last night, waiting for return calls.”

Korax shut down his desk, closed the windows, and followed Krill to the elevator.

“You don't look encouraged, but you should be," Krill said. "Chances are good she will actually be on Tellis in the future. We'll make it our business to know when the Star arrives.”

“I find I'm no longer willing to let fortune take its own course. I need to take a more active role in influencing events, Krill. It's been over eight years. I will wait no longer.”

“By tonight I should know the location of Star Colony. But Kendal, we have no transport, and such a request could not easily be explained to the razorfin.”

“If it comes to that, the razorfin owes me a favor.” Korax stepped out of the lift, ignoring the speculation in Krill’s eyes.

Lyn and Teig were in the center of the gym, warming up when the arrived.

“You won’t have to worry about me cutting you this morning.” Krill laughed. “I’ll take Lyn. You trounce Teig.”

 

“It’s a young colony, registered shortly after the date you arrived at Agab.” Krill pointed at a portion of star map. “Located somewhere in here, although exact position is in doubt.”

“That’s close to Klingon space!” Korax was astounded.

“Still pretty fringe, and claimed by neither the empire nor the Federation. Not much of interest in that area. We have recorded no habitable planets, and mining is poor. With better mining in the Bergen so close, no one would choose to site an operation there.”

“Yet she has a colony.”

“And a habitable planet.”

“Ayiah.” Krill tapped his finger on the computer slate. “They purchase Altassi replicators and Swiss shield generators. It's widely acknowledged that human-built Swiss generators are the best made by any species. Governments prefer them. Star Colony has bought three in the last planetary year, from a Terran outlet on Tellis. Officials here are still high on the tax credits, although the Star evidently recouped her outlay by running an errand for Tellis.”

“Three such generators could almost shield --”

“A planet,” Krill nodded. “That was the impression my contact had. And they have another two on order.”

“Any delivery date?”

“None. Sometime in the next year. But the Altassi ambassador tells me they have placed an order for malleable piping, the best quality they produce.”

“The Altassi freighter is due in ten days,” Korax said. “Can you find out if their cargo is on that freighter?”

“I already inquired. The ambassador says the order won’t be filled until the end of the year, it was rather large. He promises to inform us as soon as he can determine a shipping date.”

“My thanks, Krill.”

“Well, I’d like to meet her, too. I plan to challenge her to a duel.”

“Krill!”

“I don’t think you need worry about her safety." Krill laughed at him. "You have other things to worry about.”

“How she will react? If she will even remember me.” Korax fingered his brow ridges. “I'm different. Physically, and in other ways. If we met for the first time today what would she see?”

“Remember what I said once about an opera?” Krill mocked.

It was impossible not to respond. Korax threw a slate at him.

NEXT: COMRADES AND LOVERS: REUNION 


End file.
